


Hardcore

by HermitLibrary_Archivist



Series: Travis and Jenna [12]
Category: Blake's 7
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-05-28
Updated: 2008-05-28
Packaged: 2018-04-19 11:03:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 43,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4743956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HermitLibrary_Archivist/pseuds/HermitLibrary_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>by Alice C. Aldridge</p><p>Travis and Jenna's son Jason is kidnapped and held for ransom by a Terra Nostra capo with political ambitions. The price for Jason's release is the entire Stannis trading fleet. Travis and First Captain Mikhail Stannis attempt t o bargain for his freedom. Jenna and Vila have another scheme in mind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hardcore

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Judith and Aralias, the archivists: This story was originally archived at [Hermit.org Blake's 7 Library](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Hermit_Library), which was closed due to maintenance costs and lack of time. To preserve the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2015. We posted announcements about the move and emailed authors as we imported, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please contact us using the e-mail address on [Hermit.org Blake's 7 Library collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hermitlibrary/profile). 
> 
> This work has been backdated to 26th of May 2008, which is the last date the Hermit.org archive was updated, not the date this fic was written. In some cases, fics can be dated more precisely by searching for the zine they were originally published in on [Fanlore](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Main_Page).

Slouching at one of the back tables, former Space Commander Travis nursed his vitazade while looking over the clientele of  _Moriarity's Redoubt_.  He'd obtained the name of this bar through judicious use of bribes and intimidation.  Supposedly its owner was well-informed about Lucan's operations although not actually involved with his organization.Now all he had to do was prevail on the owner to tell him what he wanted to know without getting his throat cut in the process.  An especially challenging task since this was the sixth bar he'd hit tonight trolling for that information and even the supposedly non-alcoholic vitazade was beginning to take its toll.

He stared at the glass blearily, wondering if the Kyrenian bartender actually washed the glasses between rounds or simply relied on the sterilizing properties of the so-called alcohol to kill any virulent organisms.  Considering that most of what was being consumed by the free-lance pilots, burnt out nova addicts, and other bottom-feeding scum that hung out here was at least 180 proof, the barkeep probably didn't have to worry about his clients succumbing to anything except alcohol poisoning.

Travis rolled the glass between his palms as he covertly studied the bartender's scarred features. Though he wasn't a serious student of alien cultures, he knew something of Kyrenians from exposure to his gunner Phrath.  It was a combative culture that frequently dueled over mating rights, matters of status and sometimes it seemed just for the sheer hell of it.  Battle scars were worn as badges of honor, but the bartender appeared to have been deliberately maimed, with a crippled leg, shrunken arm and claw marks that raked down his muzzle blinding one eye and leaving him with twisted sneer.  
    
Taking a last gulp of the cloying vitazade, Travis decided call it a night.  Questioning a Kyrenian was a dodgy business because of their touchy pride and combative nature.  Best to attempt to prise the information he needed out of the owner tomorrow when his wits were sharper and there weren't as many witnesses around.

But before he could leave, one of the free-lancers called for another round of drinks.  "Hey, Cub-Killer, get your mangy hide over here with a bottle of that premium stuff you save for your regulars . . . and don't serve us any more of this rat piss."

Travis's fist clenched in shock at the spacer's casual use of the worst of Kyrenian insults. Watching in dour anticipation like a cat at a mousehole, he wondered whether the bartender would pull out a blaster and blow the fool away or make the effort to drag himself over to rip out his guts personally.

To his surprise, the barkeep limped over to the table, crippled foot dragging as he responded in a surprisingly mild tone of voice.  "Hard cash on table, before served any drinks at all, Spalden, Engineer First.  No more credit has crew of  _Vixen_  in this establishment. Cash in hand show or leave now."

"Listen, you fur-faced penny-pincher, we've got an inside track to Governor Lucan . . .  and that new version of nova everyone's buzzing about. Just one run and  _Vixen_  will be rolling in credits."  
  
The bartender's contemptuous shrug clearly indicated his opinion of Spalden's chances for having any part of Governor Lucan's high-powered illicit dealings.  A frustrated snarl distorted the Engineer's radiation-scarred features as he groped for his weapon, but Cub-Killer was faster, pulling out an ugly three-pronged hook that looked like it could rip a man's face off in one sweep, as he hissed, "Credit no more, Engineer First. Unwelcome is  _Vixen's_ crew this night. Closed to you are  _Redoubt's_  doors until hard cash be seen in greasy paws. Leave now."   
  
For a moment, Travis thought that  _Vixen's_ shabby lookingcrew might balk at that contemptuous dismissal and take out their anger on bartender and establishment.  He eased slowly to his feet, ready to back the Kyrenian's words with blaster fire, if necessary.  Though he normally avoided getting involved in other people's brawls, he needed to get on the bartender's good side.  Besides he was curious if this scarred Kyrenian was actually the villain from the sordid history associated with that name.  
  
Muttering to themselves, Spalden's crewmates pushed away from table, warily eyeing Cub Killer's hook and the heavy duty blaster strapped to Travis's hip before they shoved their way towards the door, deliberately spilling drinks and knocking other customers aside.  Luckily most of the  _Redoubt's_ remaining clientele were too drunk or stoned to react violently, even when provoked.  Cub-Killer hissed an oath after the departing troublemakers, before turning a speculative look on Travis as he slumped back in the chair and held up his glass for a refill.  He'd wait a just little longer to try for some useful information before calling it a night.

With the serious drinkers gone, there were only a few "working girls" present, cadging drinks off the regulars and trying to dicker for an all-nighter that would give them a place to catch a little sleep. The high-end trade frequented Lucan's  _Palace of Delights_  where the big spenders were, while the _Redoubt_  was mostly home to down-on-their-luck spacers looking for a two credit grope-and-grab.

To Travis's surprise, considering the lateness of the hour, two unescorted females entered and seated themselves at a table in the corner opposite him.  One of them was a typical freelance pilot, wearing blood-red leathers, with jacket sleeves slashed to show crystal etched star maps scarring both arms from wrist to shoulder.  Her dark hair was streaked to match her leathers and like most independents, she wore enough gold rings on wrist, finger, brow, and nose to refuel her ship in an emergency or bribe a local official to falsify papers.  She had high cheekbones, a truculent chin, and eyes as dark as space, complemented by a commanding presence that she made good use of, getting drinks delivered to their table in record time.

Her companion was shrouded in one of the all-encompassing robes worn by women from one of the extremely conservative Amagon worlds - though no respectable Amagon female would have been caught dead in an establishment like the  _Redoubt_ , which not only served alcohol but allowed females to consort with males in an unseemly fashion. Whoever was concealed under the capacious folds of the burqua moved with a lack of grace that set off alarms in Travis's head, causing him to watch intently while nursing the virtually undrinkable vitazade.

He was not the only one interested in the unusual pair as an obscenely fat Scanthi trader wearing the swirling serpentine tattoos of a slaver oozed over to the women's table with two muscular bodyguards swaggering in his wake.

"Oh Fairest of the Fair, your beauty assaults these unworthy eyes.  How is it that no man has claimed you for his own?  Or perhaps it is that all the men upon this benighted world are struck mute by the blinding brilliance of your face.  Of course, that's why your companion is veiled, so that men are not turned to stone by her sublime. . ."

"Cut the crap, snakeboy," the free lancer sneered. "I know what those tattoos mean and we're not fooled by your flesh-peddling spiel.  Neither of us is interested in becoming a 'joy girl' in the local hareems, no matter how much you prattle on about 'untold wealth awaiting us and the handsome aristos pining for the merest touch of our jasmine scented fingers'."  
  
The slaver shook his head in mock dismay, setting his jewel studded earrings to tinkling as he made a moue of distaste, "I'm crushed by your disdain . . . **bitch."**  
  
His expression hardened into one of utter contempt.    
  
"As beautiful and well-informed female as yourself should know better than to visit this end of the docks so late in the evening.  Especially since your crew roster is a matter of public record, Captain Chandra _._ I'm well aware that there is no one to come looking for you.  That gives me more than sufficient time to break you to the whip . . .  while teaching you a female's proper place is subservient to her lord and master.  Afterwards, I'm certain you'll bring a good price on the open market . . . as will your suitably modest companion."   
  
As the Scanthi bowed unctuously in the direction of the veiled one, reassured by her seeming timidity, she snapped up her booted foot and kicked him in the crotch, taking his guards totally by surprise.  The slaver gave a throttled scream and collapsed writhing to the floor.  Meanwhile Chandra grabbed up a chair from under their table and smashed it over the head of the first bodyguard who dropped to his knees with his shaven head streaming blood.  
  
Travis felt the hackles rise on the back of his neck at Chandra's aggressive response, somewhat surprised at the two women's fierce reaction to the Scanthi's ploy.   Most females didn't have that testosterone fueled instinct for violence.  Of course, they were still outnumbered and possibly outgunned, so though he wasn't anyone's idea of "knight in shining armor", Travis still felt an obligation to come to the aid of another free trader. Even one who wasn't part of the Enclave.

Pushing out of his chair, he took two long strides into the middle of the brawl and snatched up the gurgling slaver by the throat with his cyberhand and hurled him across the table.  The second bodyguard had pulled out a wicked-looking scimitar and was slashing at the burqua-clad individual as she tried to evade his reach with stumbling haste.

Meanwhile, the first bodyguard, bloodied and momentarily stunned by the chair Chandra had broken over his head, shook off the effects of that blow and charged the pilot like a maddened bull.  She tried to dodge out of his way while smashing him again with the broken leg that was all that remained of the chair, but he was surprisingly quick despite his bulk.  Snaring her by the waist, he enveloped her in a smothering hold, determined to crush her ribs.

Turning away from the blubbering slaver, Travis quickly recognized the pilot's danger.  Lunging across the room like a panther, he delivered an open-handed blow to the back of the bodyguard's neck with just enough force to paralyze his arms, but not break his neck.

Breaking loose from his bearlike grip, Chandra attempted to tackle the bodyguard with the scimitar who had cornered her companion and was about to rip through her voluminous robes with the tip of his blade.  He slapped her aside but before he could use his blade, Travis delivered a straight arm blow with his cyberfist that smashed the guard's jaw askew and sent him crashing onto a table that collapsed under his weight.

There was a brief shocked silence, then Travis strode over to where the slaver was trying to crawl out of the  _Redoubt's_  door without being spotted.  Dragging the quivering mass of flesh upright, he snarled, "Empty your pockets now . . . or do I have to turn you upside down and shake?"  
  
The Scanthi whimpered, "I meant no harm . . . just expressing my admiration . . . for their beauty.  Females are so touchy nowadays. You can't even compliment them anymore, without being insulted and abused."

"Save it for someone who cares, flesh peddler.  Just hand over your purse . . . and those earrings too."

The Scanthi hastily pulled out a money pouch and tossed it on the table where it spilled out a small pile of silver along with one or two brass pieces.  Then fumbling at his earlobes, he added their shimmering color to the pot as well.

"Now, get these two goons on their feet and out of here, before I lose my patience and hang your sorry arses up for sale at the local meat market."  
  
The Scanthi waddled between his two bodyguards, kicking and cursing until they finally lurched to their feet.  After much muttering and complaining, the threesome wobbled out the door, the guards leaning on each other for support.

Travis turned back to Chandra, ready to gallantly shrug off her gratitude and admiration, only to be surprised by a ringing blow to the head.  He clutched his bruised cheek and stared at her in disbelief, "Wot' th' hell . . ."

<>"If I'd wanted your help, One-Eye, I'd have sent up a flare. The Captain of the  _Sabre_  is able to protect herself . . . and her passenger."  
  
"Pip, pip for the Captain of the  _Sabre,_ " he sneered in a disgusted tone as he headed for the door, only to find Cub-Killer and his nasty three-pronged weapon blocking his way.

"Tables three broken are, chairs two smashed, assorted glasswares, bottles of fine whiskey and other high-priced potables are on floor dripping and not insides filling of customers paying," the Kyrenian snarled, his scarred lip showing one of an intimidating set of fangs.

"The hell you say," Travis exploded.  "If there's any 'fine whiskey or other high-priced potables' on those shelves, I'll drink them myself."  He reached inside his jacket and pulled out the cash that the slaver had reluctantly deposited on the table. "That should cover my share of the damages.  Try squeezing the rest out of that hard-assed Captain of the  _Sabre."_

Cub-Killer tucked the coins into a pouch he had slung around his middle then motioned for Travis to join him at the bar. Tucking the nasty looking triple-pronged weapon away, he gave a half-hearted hiss, "No more true claws have I, only man-made claws to depend on."  
  
Travis arched a rueful brow, "They seem to get the job done."  
  
Cub-Killer spat to one side in contempt, before reaching down and pulling a dusty looking bottle from under the bar.

"Not fine whiskey is, but better than slop you drinking have been." He curled his upper lip in mock disgust, "Vitazade fit for unweaned cubs only is, not tough fighter who all alone two slaver bodyguards made short work of."

Travis took a cautious sip of the proffered drink, rolling it around in his mouth slowly. Cub-Killer was right. It definitely wasn't fine whiskey, but far better than the slop he'd been tossing down.  With more of a kick too.  He'd have to watch himself and not let anything slip.  Bartenders were very good at uncovering their customers' deepest secrets then selling the information to the highest bidder.  Travis intended to make sure he was on the receiving rather than the disbursement end of any information exchange.

"Not that big a deal anyway, seeing how the 'Captain of the  _Sabre_ ' and her mysterious passenger did their bit."

<>"Good fighters they were . . . for females."  
  
"I've seen better," Travis muttered, taking another small sip of his drink while he got a long sidelong view of the barkeep, looking beyond the ragged ears and scarred features.  The faded areas on his broad forehead resembled certain Kyrenian high clan markings, along with what appeared to be healed over scars from chieftain's rings at the base of his ears.

Cub-Killer paused for a moment, then poured himself a small jot from the dust-covered bottle before putting it back under the bar.  He took a sip and gusted out a slow breath, "High class whiskey it may not be, but good enough for pain-killer, yes."

He wasn't as familiar with house colors as Jenna was and knew little Kyrenian history except the sagas that Phrath sometimes recited on long nightwatches.  But there was one name repeated often, though whether as hero or villain depended on Phrath's mood when telling the tale.

Travis rolled the class between his hands, staring into its depths, wondering whether he should speak up or not. Whether the barkeep truly wanted his past forgotten or if he still hungered for the dregs of recognition that could come from mention of those old stories.  He took a deep breath and gusted it out again.  It was a gamble either way, but he desperately needed the information that Cub-Killer supposedly had.  Might as well throw the dice and see what came up.

He took a final gulp of the drink then looked into the bartender's emerald eye.

"I imagine that the battle scars of Cort Deadlyclaw of Nightsinger Clan would be painful indeed."

Cub-Killer froze and then tossed down his drink saying in a harsh rasping voice, "No legend here lives.  Hero dead now, shamed now.  Cub-Killer they branded me, Cub-Killer all that remains."

Travis stared into his glass for a long moment, fighting down his misgivings before he continued in a low bitter voice, "I knew a man once, branded a killer, a butcher - the Butcher of Zircaster- when he was just a soldier following orders.  Names like that  
. . . they're what you did, not who you are."

There was another long period of silence and Cub-Killer got the dust-covered bottle out again to pour another round, but Travis covered his glass.

"No more for me.  It's been a long night."

"Information sniffing you are, One-Eye.  Seeking what, at this end of docks?"

Travis hesitated for a long moment, knowing that he was putting not only his life on the line, but possibly Jason and Mikhail's as well.  Still, sometimes all you could go on was instinct.

"Information about one of Lucan's 'guests', a Free Trader spacer -- Jason Stannis."

Cub-Killer gave him a scornful, almost pitying look, " No further should you look, One-Eye.  Better odds of escaping black hole have Lucan's 'guests', than the depths of  _Malbolgia_  cellblock."

The Kyrenian began polishing his bar industriously, ignoring Travis as though he was no longer there.

II

 

Entering their suite in Lucan's  _Palace of Delights_ , Travis could tell that his partner in this foolhardy endeavor, First Captain of the Stannis Clan, Mikhail Stannis, had not yet returned from his attempt to acquire an appointment with Governor Lucan. Restless and agitated, he checked over their luxurious quarters with its antique flocked wallpaper, velvet curtains and plush overstuffed furniture for a third time, hunting for listening devices and spy cams of any conceivable size and configuration.  His experience as Servalan's one-time chief of security had served him well in this regard and he had already disposed of or disabled most of the surveillance in the more obvious locations, but he did another sweep just in case any of the devices had self-repair capacity or if anyone had entered their room to replace suddenly nonfunctional equipment. 

Throwing himself down on one of the state-of-the-art beds, equipped with soothing music, video projection, and sensual massage options, Travis flung his arm across his eye and tried to banish the memories of his final disagreement with Jenna before he left with her uncle on this mission to  _La_   _Terre de la Nuit San Fin_  or the Land of Endless Night as it was also known.

Neither he nor Jenna had even heard of this backwater hellhole until they were summoned to the First Captain's office almost a week ago.  Mikhail had just received a message worded in quasi-official legal jargon which appeared to be a combination ransom demand /business proposition, from its so-called "governor."  Along with the message was a container with a flash-frozen specimen of the tip of one of his guest's fingers, "so you can verify his identity."  
  
The lab confirmed that the DNA is Jason's," Mikhail stated in an absolutely neutral tone of voice, watching intently to see how they reacted to the news.

Jason Stannis.

His and Jenna's son who was supposedly safe and sound, learning Free Trader history and commerce at the Starliner Academy.

"And what does the Academy have to say about Jason's current whereabouts?"  Jenna slumped into one of the First Captain's overstuffed leather couches.

"He was scheduled to leave on an in-system training cruise last week, but slipped away on the docks before his class checked aboard.  According to his roommate, Jason had been grousing that the cruise was little more than a sightseeing jaunt, but hadn't mentioned any other plans."

"Why weren't we told sooner?" Jenna demanded.  
  
Travis studied the First Captain, noting his apparent composure despite the arrival of the ransom note, wondering what sort of head game he might be playing with them.

Narrowing his good eye speculatively, he drawled, "Surely your agents on the docks kept you informed of Jason's actions?  Just why did this 'business proposition' come as such a surprise to you?"

Stannis glared at Travis, "I wasn't alerted that Jason had missed roll call until after liftoff.  By then,  _Charlie's Jade_  had cleared the system and it was too late to send any of our ships after him."  
  
" _Charlie's Jade_  . . . I don't recognize that name. Who's her captain?"

"No one you'd know. A freelancer from outsystem."

"You let Jason sign onto a strange ship, without checking out her captain and crew?"  There was more than a hint of shrillness in Jenna's voice.

"Like I said earlier, I didn't learn what ship Jason had signed aboard until it was too late to do anything."  
  
"You might have at least notified us." Jenna struggled to remain calm.

"The boy's caused no end of trouble since being enrolled at the Academy, challenging his teachers, showing off, questioning everything . . . ."  The First Captain turned around and glared at Jenna.  "Undoubtedly due to that damned rabble-rouser Blake's influence."

"Don't rule out bloodlines," Travis muttered.

"Anyway, I hoped a dose of the real world might knock some of that arrogance and stubbornness out of him.  That's why I let him go.  However, it seems I misjudged the venality of Captain McCready."

"What do you mean?" Jenna leaned forward.   
  
"McCready was the one who delivered the message and DNA sample. Though the ship he returned in wasn't  _Charlie's Jade_ , but a torqued-up space yacht, flying  _Terre de la Nuit San Fin_  colors and claiming diplomatic immunity.  Needless to say, I had him drugged and checked out via telepathic scan."  
  
The First Captain turned his deskscreen so Travis and Jenna could read it. "Brendan's report is right here."  
  
Seething with impatience, Travis shoved the screen aside, leaning over the desk as he growled,  "Just tell us the bad news, dammit, and stop pussyfooting around."

"It seems that McCready's real cargo was human embryos for  _La_   _Terre de la Nuit's_ illicit placental tanks, instead of the bovine fetal cells listed on his manifest."

"Little better than a slaver," Jenna breathed.

Mikhail nodded, "And like most slaver captains, he viewed his crew as just another commodity, gassing them and putting them on the market as soon as soon as his ship cleared customs.  Going through Jason's belongings afterwards, he discovered his identity crystal and realized the boy's value as a hostage . . . then tried to cut a deal with one of Lucan's lieutenants.  Which was why he was sent back with the Governor's 'business proposition.'"

"A 'good will' offering, so we blow off steam by killing the messenger.  Then resign ourselves to the distasteful reality of dealing with a political thug."  Travis pushed away from the desk, pacing angrily across the room.  
  
"Let's not disappoint him," Jenna said coldly. "Send him our answer . . . McCready's head in a box."

Travis turned to her, saying mildly, "Surely you aren't going to give up on Jason without even trying to get him out?"

" _Balkis_ is a fast ship, configured like a small-time smuggler.  If  _La Terre de la Nuit_  is as wide open as rumored, it should be easy for a team to go in undercover and grab Jason." She gave him a humorless smile, "After all, I've had some prior experience with this type of operation . . .  snatching you and Blake out of Servalan's clutches on occasion."

"Your last 'rescue' operation required the tactical expertise of a FSA trained captain, an armed landing party with explosives and half the Federation and Enclave Fleet," Mikhail interrupted sharply.  "Don't even think about attempting that kind of foolhardy nonsense again. We are doing this by the rules -my rules - and I assure you that we will get Jason back in one piece, without bloodshed . . . or compromising this Clan 's holdings."  
  
Travis thought Mikhail was being naive, but was willing to listen to what the man had in mind. Much to his surprise, the plan was relatively simple, although it depended heavily on the First Captain's negotiation skills and Travis's infiltration techniques.  
  
"What about me?" Jenna demanded. "You can't expect me to sit here twiddling my thumbs while the two of you take on this would-be warlord."   
  
"That's exactly what we expect you to do," Mikhail ordered sternly. "This is an extremely volatile situation and judging by the data we have so far on Lucan, he's a Terra Nostra capo with political ambitions.  He has one Stannis hostage, I don't propose to offer him any chances to acquire another one."  
  
"I can take care of myself," Jenna had replied defiantly.   
  
"Perhaps, perhaps not," Mikhail's expression had been unyielding. "But the situation is going to be risky enough without including any more participants than absolutely necessary."  
  
"I'm not just any 'participant', Jason is my s . . . my flesh and blood.  I have a right to be part of this expedition.  Besides I've dealt with the Terra Nostra . . . and worse.  I know how to handle myself."   
  
The First Captain pushed out of his chair and leaned forward, glaring at Jenna over his massive desk.  "The boy is a Stannis, with blood-right claim on my protection and whether you believe it or not, I take that responsibility seriously.  After reading Brendan's report, I don't want you within a hundred parsecs of that pesthole.  You have no conception of the ruthlessness of a man like Lucan, with his ambition for wealth and power.  Your previous encounters have only been with low-level flunkies, men of venal desires who were easily outwitted. It's simply too dangerous for you to come along."  
  
"All right," Jenna said defiantly, pushing out of the clutches of the sofa. "I may not be included in your plan but you can't stop me from taking one of my ships and crew and staging my own rescue."  
  
"I can revoke your Master's papers and place your ships under quarantine."

"You wouldn't dare !" Jenna stared at him outraged.

"It's done. I notified the Port Master before I sent for you."

"What about our contracts and the cargo that's already loaded on my ships. Surely you don't expect us to default on them, just because you don't trust me?"  
  
"None of your deliveries are particularly time-sensitive.  You can easily make those cargo runs after we return.  It shouldn't take Travis and I longer than a week to do what we must. And the Clan will reimburse you for any late delivery fees."

Jenna's fingers drummed angrily on the sofa's arm as she glared at her bondmate, "And you're willing to go along with this? Without me?"

Travis's gaze flickered between Jenna and her uncle, hating being forced to make this decision.  Though secretly he agreed with the First Captain, especially after reading Brendan's report.   _La Terre de la Nuit_  was not just a backwater smuggler's bolthole like Space City or Freedom City, with the usual wide open venues for sex, drugs and gambling.  The place was much more dangerous, with a widely-known market in slaves for every extreme of sex and violence, brainburning, VR overloads and open season for organjackers.  If he had a choice, he wouldn't go within a  _thousand_  parsecs of the place, much less take Jenna with him.

But there was no choice, not if he wanted to save their son.  He would not meet Jenna's demanding stare.

Mikhail nodded in his direction. "With Brendan's help, I've come up a plan to free Jason from Lucan's clutches making use of Travis's training and skills. You would only serve as a distraction . . . because we'd be worried about keeping you out of Lucan's clutches.  You'd be an easy target for his degenerate flunkies."

Jenna glared at the two men, her face flushed and her eyes glittering, then took a deep breath in an effort to regain her composure. "Go ahead then, Uncle, and play it your way, by your rules.  Just don't be surprised if Lucan outschemes you."

Then she had turned on her heel and strode to the door, with her shoulders squared and chin high, not even looking back at Travis.

Remembering how close he had come to losing her the last time that they had parted on such furious terms, Travis almost went after her, but Mikhail stopped him short.  "You know there's no reasoning with her when she's in this mood . . .  besides, you still need to check over the special equipment we've acquired for this operation."

Despite his misgivings, Travis had accompanied the First Captain down to the docks to inventory Mikhail's "special equipment."  Running down the supply list, he'd shook his head in disbelief.  Judging by the hoard of the late model stealthware and high-frequency scanning devices, Stannis or his agents must have been frequenting every Merc Fair and Arms Show on this side of the Spiral Rim.  Most of the stuff was useless for the kind of operation he intended to carry out, besides its very presence screamed their less than friendly intentions to anyone who spotted it.

Travis did find a cutting edge hypertronic scanner that could prove useful in locating shielded room where Jason might be sequestered.  There was a portable jamming device that could disable spy eyes and other monitoring equipment used to keep them under surveillance.  Then of course, there were the usual lethal weapons disguised in all manner of innocuous items including items of clothing, body ornamentation, and personal data devices.

As Travis was going over them, Stannis remarked off-handedly, "We located a weapons' specialist who can re-install the laser circuitry in your cyber-arm . . . if you want that extra edge."  
  
Travis felt a cold knot in the pit of his stomach, recalling his years as Servalan's "weapon" and how Jenna had helped him reclaim his humanity.

"I think not," he replied with a hard won composure.  "It will be difficult enough getting this equipment past Lucan's hired thugs.  I'd just as soon not have my arm disabled . . .  or even removed . . . just because you underestimated Lucan's security staff."

Mikhail had given him a look of bemused irritation, " As many years as I was a Free Trader Cargo Master, don't you think I learned a thing or two about concealing contraband?"

Travis shrugged, neither admitting or challenging Stannis's claim. "There's just one thing missing though. I don't see any explosives or incendiary devices. When we locate Jason, how are we supposed to break him out? Gnaw through the locks with our teeth?"  
  
The First Captain gave a sour frown, "Unfortunately, we haven't come up with a foolproof method of shielding those items from chemical sniffing devices . . . yet. We'll either have to buy something on the open market or see what we can concoct on our own."

Travis muttered sullenly under his breath.

"Sorry, I didn't catch that last remark," Stannis's patience had begun to wear thin.  
  
"I said, 'It's too bad we can't 'borrow' Vila Restal for this operation.' He might be a light-fingered lush and a coward, but he has the surest hands in the lock-picking business."  
  
"We'll manage without him," Stannis said impatiently. "Now, do you want to go over Brendan's plan again while he's here to answer any questions?"  
  
Travis had shrugged, knowing from experience that no plan of battle, whether open warfare or sneak attack, ever survived initial engagement with the enemy.  But he was used to thinking on his feet and had come out on top from much more reckless schemes than this.  
  
And apparently Mikhail had more than a few tricks up his sleeve because even though their ship had been routinely scanned and searched upon their arrival, none of their specialized equipment had been confiscated - so far.

Travis scrubbed his hands down his face and debated whether to shower some of the lowtown stink off, or wait until Mikhail returned and see if they needed to prowl the docks again tonight.

There was a rustling sound at the door and he rolled off the bed, positioning himself so he could spy who was entering without being seen first.

He wasn't surprised when it turned out to be Jenna's uncle, who stomped in, glowering as though a business rival had just underbid his most profitable contract.  Travis closed the door and locked it after Mikhail entered, stopping only long enough to pour himself a stiff drink before sprawling on one of the suite's sensuously plush chairs.  Travis folded his arms and leaned against the dresser as he asked, "You seem out of sorts. What's the matter? Is Lucan making unreasonable demands for Jason's   
  
"Didn't see the damn governor," he rumbled in irritation. "I was led around by the nose on the bloody cook's tour with one of his underlings."  
  
Travis gave a brief nod as he signaled Mikhail in the abbreviated finger code of Lassa trade talk, while they continued with a random and unrevealing verbal conversation, " Sounds boring. Spot any good places for some live entertainment?"

CLUE JASON'S SITE?

Mikhail snorted in disgust, "We're not here so you can go on a tear just because you've temporarily escaped Jenna's clutches."

NOT YET, OFFICES, SHOPS, WAREHOUSES, NO CELLBLOCK. TRY AGAIN TOMORROW. LUCK YOU?

"Loosen up, old man.  Surely you sowed a few wild oats when you were just starting out on your Clan's ships?  This place is wide-open for sex, drugs and neurochip realities. Why not give it a try for a couple of nights?"

Even as Travis seemed eager to hit the low end establishments on the docks, his fingers twitching in apparent anticipation, his news was anything but good.

NO ONE FITTING JASON'S ID. JADE'S CREW SOLD AS SEX/COMBAT DRONES. LOCATED REDOUBT OWNER.  NO HELP YET.

Stannis's expression remained grim, "It's only a couple of hours to planet dawn, so we might as well get some sleep and start fresh tomorrow.  You want first turn at the shower?"

Travis gave a cracked laugh, "This is an upper class joint, First Captain, with a full service fresher cubicle and a built-in temperature controlled waterfall. Pick your level of decadence."

Mikhail grimaced in exasperation before shrugging, "Much as I'd like to scour the stink of this place off, I'm bone tired . . . and need my 'beauty sleep'.  Do as you please, just don't wake me when you come in."

Travis scowled at Mikhail's use of the phrase, "beauty sleep".  It meant lights out all right, but they'd both be making use of IR scan implants to look at something that Mikhail believed might give them a clue about Jason's location.  
  
Muttering sullenly under his breath, Travis hit the light switch before rolling across the bed over to where Stannis had activated a 3-D infra-red projection of the asteroid known as  _La_   _Terre de la Nuit San Fin_.  Though it had originally been an independent mining and geologic research station, after Lucan and his Terra Nostra flunkies had "evicted" its original owners by shoving them out the airlocks, they had done a great deal of remodeling.

The First Captain started off with a projection, showing the asteroid's earliest structure, with its ion plasma power core, heating and vent shafts, and slag pit outlined in a sickly glowing green.  Then he highlighted an orange overlay with a tourist map of the current site, highlighting the luxurious hotel and casino,  _Palace of Delights,_  where they werecurrently staying, along with the most commonly frequented shopping, gambling and entertainment venues.  Finally he outlined in yellow the docks, seedy bars and VR dens along with the office spaces, shops and warehouses that indicated the areas that he or Travis had mapped today during their initial scouting mission.  Despite their efforts, too much of the map was still a dark angry red -  _terra_ _incognita_ , unknown territory.

CELLBLOCK MALBOLGIA SOMEWHERE THERE

Travis gestured irritably toward that crimson area then shrugged in resignation at the vent shafts which would have provided almost unlimited access to the entire station to someone with fifty meters of rope and Travis's free-climbing skills.  Apparently Governor Lucan was far-sighted enough to recognize that vulnerability and had the hatchway entries welded shut.

Stannis nodded sympathetically at Travis's choked back a snarl of frustration and in the odd half-light of their projection, he observed the First Captain's curt hand signals, PATIENT PREDATOR ONCE. WATCH, WAIT, STRIKE AT RIGHT TIME.

Unsure whether Stannis's statement was a warning or a plea, Travis returned an equally ambiguous reply. FIND JASON SOON, BEFORE DAMAGE DONE.

Stannis stared at him bleakly before switching off the IR projection and muttering, "Get some rest, Travis. We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow."

 

III

  
Down at the lower end of the docks in much less sumptuous surroundings, Captain Chandra of thefree trade ship  _Sabre_  opened the magnalock on their lodgings for the night and signaled her companion to enter the room first.  With a fully charged blaster in one hand, the free lance pilot made a quick scan of the sleeping and fresher area for any unwelcome visitors before closing the door and activating the lock.  Just to be on the safe side, her companion propped the room's one battered plastic chair in the doorway, to alert them if anyone attempted to deactivate the flimsy device.  
  
She glared at her weapon in disgust, before shoving it into back into its holster.  She was still shaken by the slaver's reaction to her refusal.  Once he realized she was neither naive nor down on her luck enough to buy his snake oil spiel, his response should have been limited to a few verbal insults that she was so ugly and graceless he couldn't even sell her as a kitchen drudge.  Instead he'd tried to take her by force, such an unusual action she'd actually forgotten that she was armed, responding on a primitive physical level to his guards' attack.

With security established as much as possible, Chandra took a long look at the squalid interior, taking in the stained and musty sheets on the double bed and the equally disreputable looking couch, with its vomitous brown plass slip covers and the foam stuffing that oozed out of one tattered corner.

"Wanna toss a coin to see who gets the bed and who sleeps on the couch?" Chandra offered with a wan look.

"If you don't mind," her companion grumbled, "I think I'll sleep in the tub. It might be safer there . . . especially if we have visitors later tonight."

Chandra shrugged, "It's your choice.  Just make sure that you plug up the drain.  I wouldn't want to guess what sort of vermin inhabits the pipes down at this end of the docks."

"Vermin . . . in the pipes?" her companion shuddered.   "Maybe I'll sleep on the couch after all."   Then collapsing onto said furnishing with a distinctly unfeminine grunt, the veiled figure began to pry rather peevishly at its boots.

"Ooooooh, I may never walk again.  I think my arches have fallen, my toes are crunched and my entire foot has been forced into a totally unnatural configuration.  I dunno how you girls did it, running all over creation, in those high-heeled boots all the time.  It's inhuman that's wot it is, worse than Chinese foot binding."

After freeing less than delicate pedal appendages from the confinement of the aforementioned boots, Chandra's companion removed the veiled headdress, revealing the affable if pained features of Vila Restal.

"Oh, stop whining, Vila," his companion sighed.  "Those boots have an inch and a half heel at the most. Cally and I climbed all over Saurian Major, Cephlon, and Lindor in heels that were twice as high and never complained once."

Still massaging his aching feet, Vila glanced sidelong at the disguised features of his former crewmate, "You took a big chance, Jenna, tangling with Travis like you did. How did you know he wouldn't recognize you?"

Jenna ran a hand through her dark-dyed locks, then massaged the chin and cheekbone implants that had altered her features so dramatically.  "I didn't know for sure, Vila.  But I wanted to check out Dani's handiwork before things went any further . . . and she did a good job.  He didn't have a clue."  She scratched irritably at her various gold rings and then started to rub at the crystal tattoos before deliberately stopping herself.  "I just wish she could have come up with a little less flamboyant identity."

Vila slumped back on the couch, with an increasingly sour look on his face, "I just wish that I hadn't been visiting her when you showed up.  Then maybe I'd still be safe and sound on Sanctuary, instead of sleeping on a dilapidated couch in some pesthole spacer's dive.  Couldn't you afford something upscale enough to have two beds and ' limited use of the facilities', so we could at least wash up?"

Jenna explained in a deliberately patient tone, "When he revoked my Masters papers, Mikhail also froze my business accounts. I have some discretionary funds, but most of that's going to be needed for bribes and buying information."

Vila grumbled to himself as he massaged his feet.  "Turnin' into a regular spoiled Alpha brat, gettin' in over his head and expecting someone else to bail him out of trouble.  Worse than Blake," he muttered.

Jenna gave a weary sigh as she tossed a small purse in his direction, "This should be enough to buy passage on the next ship that leaves port, if you don't drink it all up dockside.  I'll break him out without you . . . somehow.  Just don't forget to return your disguise to Dani.  Those burquas are hard to come by."

Vila winced at the accusing undertone in Jenna's voice, knowing that if he did abandon her on this accursed, backwater hole that he'd never be able to look at himself in the mirror again . . . and he'd lose any hope of impressing the beautiful red-haired Dani McRae. "Can't a fella blow off a little steam without having the roof fall on his head, huh?"  Vila tried to get back in Jenna's good graces. "I still don't see how she managed to find you a ship and papers on such short notice."

"Dani didn't supply the ship. I did."

"But I thought all your ships were in quarantine."

" _Sabre_ 's registered under another identity.  Complete with a separate set of Master's papers.  All I needed was to come up with a new face and history to go with those papers."

"Very clever, Jenna.  But just when did you find the time . . . and funds . .  to do all this?"

"It was right after  _Liberator_ and Blake rescued Travis from Servalan's and Carnell's clutches. You remember? The  _Reina_ was lost during the attack on their base."

"I remember," Vila whimpered.  "That ship was supposed to be our means of escaping Servalan's stronghold . . . and instead it got blown to bits in the middle of the Federation attack."

Jenna gave a rueful sigh as she punched Vila's shoulder. "The _Reina_  was a bold, bonny ship, Vila, and deserved to go out in a blaze of glory.  I'm just grateful Tarrant saved her from being stripped down for parts after Travis went missing on Jade."

"But you're a registered pilot, with your own trading fleet.  Why would you want a junky little skyrunner like  _Sabre_?"

Jenna did not answer immediately, regarding Vila out of the corner of her eye.

"Ever since Blake's become the Freedom Alliance leader, you get invited to a lot of fund-raisers in swank places, don't you?  And I'm pretty sure Blake doesn't let you lift the silver or rifle your hostess's jewelry box?"

"Threatened to make me eat anything he caught me with," Vila muttered.

"How very politic of him," Jenna smiled. "But I bet you still check out all the exits, before your first drink."

"Well, of course," Vila shrugged. "You always need a back-up escape plan."  Then the light began to dawn.  "And  _Sabre_ is your back-up escape.  But you're among family now, aren't you?  Why would you even need one?"

Jenna flopped down on the battered couch, folding her arms behind her head as she stared at the mottled, moldy ceiling. "Sometimes family can be more of a trap than any Federation prison planet.  My uncle has been trying to keep me planetbound ever since Travis and I returned to Sanctuary.  I'm no longer the sixteen-year-old apprentice pilot who ran away after her parents were murdered by the Federation, but Mikhail is still trying to shelter me from the 'big, bad, universe' that's out there."

Vila sat there silently for a long moment, before he stood up and began to undo the numerous concealed hooks and snaps that fastened the burqua.  Pausing in the middle of that complex operation, he gazed at her with a grim expression unlike anything she'd ever seen on his face before. " You ever considered that he might have very good reasons for wanting to keep you away from this pesthole?"  
  
"I've survived worse places," she answered with a defiant tilt to her chin.

"No, Jenna, I don't think you have."  Vila shrugged out of the voluminous folds of fabric and gathered it up, like a man trying to collect a collapsed parachute. "Oh, I know all about your reputation as a smuggler. I've even read your rap sheet and let me tell you, girl, you barely wet your toes in the stinking swamp of underworld dealings."

After spreading out the tentlike garment so he almost disappeared under it, Vila popped up like a near-sighted mole. "Space City is a kiddy camp next to this place and Shadow's blooming stick of candy floss compared to the new junk Lucan's rumored to have in stock."

"What sort of 'junk'?"  Jenna sat up, surprised at Vila's revelation  
  
"Not sure exactly," he mumbled. "Wasn't paying much attention to the local rumors unless there was mention of Free Traders or where important ' guests' might be kept in Lucan's  _Palace of Delights_."   He cracked his knuckles absent-mindedly.  
  
"Y'know, Jenna, I'm used to blending into the background and trying not be seen but it was very interesting, eavesdropping while I was wearing that burqua.  Most of the time it was like I wasn't even there.  People would look right past me like I didn't exist.  Why is that?"  
  
"Call it the 'invisible woman' effect, Vila.  To most men in a place like this, women are nothing more than sex objects, bought or sold on the open market.  You weren't advertising, so you weren't 'there' for them. That's the chief reason that I asked Dani to loan us that burqua."   
  
She stared across the room into the cloudy, cracked mirror hanging on the wall, studying her disguised and exotic features, knowing that she would draw men's eyes wherever she went on  _La_   _Terre de la Nuit_.  But disguised in that burqua and practicing his own particular skills at being nondescript and blending into the shadows, hopefully Vila would be able to go places and find out things that she'd never discover, no matter how much money she spread around in low dives like  _Moriarty's Redoubt_.  Hopefully those skills, along with his gifts at breaking into and out of unbreakable cells would help the two of them get Jason out of the trouble that he was in.   
  
She smiled coldly to herself.  And they'd do it quicker and slicker than any operation that Travis and her uncle might be planning.  
  
"Get some rest, Vila. We've got a long day ahead of us tomorrow, if we're going to try to locate Jason before Travis and my uncle muck up the situation."

"Toss you for the bed," he grinned cheekily, flipping one of the coins dropped by the harem master's bodyguards towards the ceiling.

Jenna grabbed it out of midair and examined it closely, before tossing it back to him, "Not with a two-faced goddess coin, you won't.  Now, get to bed before you get into trouble."

IV

  
Much to Stannis's disgust, one of Lucan's toadies, who insisted on introducing himself as an Executive Assistant, appeared at their door bright and early the next morning.  Mikhail had never been a morning person, choosing to have a leisurely breakfast and linger over a second or even third cup of coffee while Brendan managed the office and rescheduled any urgent appointments to the more civilized hour of 10:00 or 11:00 am or even after lunch whenever possible.   
  
Travis, on the other hand, had rolled out of bed at the unholy hour of aught dark thirty, engaged in an obscene set of physical exercises, and then showered and ordered a hearty breakfast delivered to their room before Mikhail could do more than pry a single eyelid open.  Mikhail seriously considered hiring an assassin to eliminate his co-conspirator, before resigning himself to the harsh reality that he needed Travis's skills for their plan to work.  Besides he didn't relish trying to explain her bondmate's untimely demise to Jenna, particularly in the mood that she was likely to be in when they returned.

Grumbling like a disturbed hibernating bear, Mikhail dragged himself out of bed and staggered into the fresher, leaving Travis to deal with Lucan's messenger.  When he exited some thirty minutes later, feeling semi-human after being showered, shaved, and massaged into some semblance of wakefulness, Lucan's messenger had made himself at home on the scarlet crushed velvet divan, sipping tea and watching with mild interest while Travis sampled the suite's complimentary erotic and exotic tri-dee selection.

As the liaison observed Travis, Stannis scrutinized him, hoping for further insight into Governor Lucan's intentions and motivations.  The messenger appeared to be the typical "young man on the rise", impeccably groomed in a one-piece unisuit of pearlized gray with vents of dark glittering blue.  His hair had been styled and moussed into a high fashion coxcomb and his nails were filed and buffed to a sheen with razor-edged obsidian overlays on the index fingers of both hands.  With his unnaturally pale skin and dark brown, almost black eyes, Lucan's assistant bore a striking resemblance to a walking corpse.

Maintaining his guise as being on the prowl for sexual adventure in hopes that the messenger would underestimate him as a potential threat, Travis flicked through the preview screens, muttering lewdly under his breath.  
  
"This is only a very limited selection of our catalog, Captain Travis.  As a guest of Governor Lucan's, you have access to any number of tri-dees, including those that involve even more exotic activities than the merely sexual.  The catalogue also includes any number of human "toys" available for your pleasure . . ."

Mikhail interrupted, growling in exasperation, "This is not some pleasure jaunt, messenger boy . . ."

The man stood up, putting his tea aside, and bowed stiffly to Mikhail, "My name is Vontard, First Captain, and I am the Governor's special liaison to the Free Trader's Enclave, fully empowered to answer all your questions and conduct the necessary negotiations."

"For my nephew Jason's release?"

"First Captain, we are businessmen, not bandits.  I can assure you that we had no part in your nephew's . . . ahhmm . . .  'disappearance'."

"But you do know where he's being held, don't you?"

"We are checking out all recent ship disappearances, along with any sudden availability of replacement parts, human or mechanical. Also our agents are watching for a new influx of slaves on the market."

While Mikhail was attempting to get information out of Lucan's messenger, Travis sat off to one side, seemingly mesmerized by the outrageous display of coupling bodies of all races and species.  Actually he was studying Vontard, reading the lies and half-truths that every single tic and movement revealed to a trained eye.

"Then how the bloody blue blazes did Lucan acquire that DNA sample that he sent with his ransom note?"  
  
"I'm afraid that you've totally misunderstood Governor Lucan's message, First Captain.  As the Governor's special liaison, I can assure you that no such tissue sample or demands ever passed across my desk."  
  
"Then obviously you are not the man to I need to deal with," Stannis growled through clenched teeth.  "I want to speak to whoever can get me in to see my nephew . . .  immediately **,** if not sooner."  As Stannis turned on his heel and started to exit the room, Travis caught his arm with his cybernetic hand, pressing hard enough with plas-steel fingers to leave bruises.

"Don't be so hasty . . . First Captain."  His normally harsh voice had asly cajoling edge. "Give Liaison Vontard a chance to make a few inquiries and then maybe they can locate that misplaced nephew of yours."

His fingers communicated a much different message,  FIRST LEVEL HURDLE.  PLAY HARD BALL.  WILL CONTINUE INFO SEEK.

Stannis gave a barely perceptible nod and turned back to confront Vontard, "Well, Liaison, is Captain Travis correct?  Are you able to make the necessary inquiries?"

The slender officious human gave a noncommital shrug, "I can but try, First Captain.  Perhaps a visit to the colony's Central Files might uncover some hint of your nephew 's status."  
  
"I don't want hints and guesses," Stannis was adamant, "but hard data.  Don't waste my time playing games, Liaison, or we'll lift ship tonight."

"I shall endeavor to obtain that data, First Captain," Vontard turned a sly leer towards Travis, who had apparently become re-absorbed in the tri-dee sexual antics. "Will your . . . bodyguard . . be accompanying us?"

"Bodyguard?" Stannis snorted. "I guess you could call him that, since he carries the weapons while I carry the cash.  And his . . .  familiarity with this kind of locale made him the best choice to serve as my guide.  However, if you're the Governor's special liaison, you'll serve just as well."  
  
Vontard and the First Captain quickly departed on what Travis was certain would be little more than a wild goose chase -- though, if he read Mikhail right, he was also sure that the First Captain would acquire a great deal more information than Lucan's special liaison actually intended to impart.  
  
Abruptly he muted the sound on the vidscreen and did some preliminary work to see how accessible Lucan's main computer files were.  Much to his disgust, the security system appeared to be top of the line, with very little chance of the pre-fab break-in codes that Stannis had bought getting into the main files.  Still, any knowledge was useful and it was possible that any general information they managed to acquire, such as maps, passwords, or security schedules, could prove useful in springing Jason from captivity.  
  
He attached a mnemonic 'leech' to the system.  With any luck, they'd just think he was copying off some of the vids for private use rather than attempting to crack their data codes.  Meanwhile, he intended to resume checking out the bars and dives down by the space docks.  Such passive snooping as he'd just done might satisfy someone like Blake's computer genius Avon, but Travis preferred more aggressive information gathering, dealing with live sources who could be bribed or intimidated. Changing quickly into his dusty and battered leathers from the night before, Travis departed, setting the room's magnetic lock and also activating their own augmented security system that would reveal anyone who tried to enter their room.  
  
Meanwhile, as the First Captain and his guide navigated the bureaucratic byways of Lucan's fiefdom, Stannis found it difficult to hide his growing dismay.  The business section was a labyrinth of suites and file rooms with no logic to them that he was able to puzzle out.  However, after being led in aimless circles for most of the morning, while being referred from one oblivious clerk to another, Mikhail realized that Vontard was engaged in delaying tactics to wear down his patience and stamina before actually bringing him in to negotiate with the governor.    
  
Determined to make that ploy work in his favor, Stannis resolved to use this "wild goose chase" to his advantage.  By accessing the virtually eidetic memory he'd had when working as a Cargo Master many years before, he should be able to fill in the blank spots on their unfinished map of this place in his head.  Then whether the governor was willing to negotiate or not, it would be child's play to locate Jason in this pesthole and snatch him out of Lucan's clutches.  He pressed his palms to his temples and took several rapid deep breaths until the tips of his fingers were tingling and the images in front of his eyes began to waver and go dark.

"First Captain," Vontard stared at him in alarm. "Are you unwell? Should I summon medical aid?"

"No," he answered through chattering teeth. "Just a bit of claustrophobia.  Haven't spent this much time in confined spaces for years." If Vontard fell for that old spacer's yarn he might get the kind of access that he hoped for sooner than expected.

As his anxiety subsided and his concentration increased, Stannis began to take note of Vontard's interactions with these minor clerical functionaries and soon realized that Lucan's "liaison" was not playing by the rules of negotiation that Stannis had learned in his long career as a Free Trader.  Despite his eagerness to proclaim his affiliation with Governor Lucan to Stannis earlier, Vontard had not used his so-called influence to intimidate any of the flunkies that they'd dealt with earlier today.  Even if the liaison was well-known enough to be recognized on sight, it never hurt to remind the lower echelons who issued their pay vouchers and who could throw them out on their ear for uncooperative or inefficient behavior.

But Vontard seemed unusually hesitant to play that card . . . and demand the behavior to which a guest of the Governor's was supposedly entitled.  Unless the man had another card up his sleeve and was scrupulously observing Mikhail's reaction to the deliberately obtuse clerks and the liaison's unhelpful efforts.  
  
Mikhail pondered his response for several minutes, wondering which would be more likely to throw Lucan off his guard.  A temper tantrum of volcanic proportions, shoving technicians' heads through their data screens?  Or the glacial approach, slyly inserting the governor's name into the conversation and attempting to use his influence despite Vontard's apparent reluctance.

He gazed around the office space through half-slitted eyes, noting the presence of large numbers of over-muscled oafs, wearing body armor and carrying weapons that were more appropriate to a battle cruiser than a work space.  Best to defer the temper tantrum, unless he wanted to find Jason's cell the hard way . . .  by occupying the one next to it.

Folding his arms across his chest and tilting his head to one side, he studied the sullen attitude and reluctant compliance of the junior file clerk currently screening the morgue files.  Although not a computer search expert, he was observant enough to notice that she was going through files that were over six months old.

He suggested in a mild tone of voice, "You might want to update your search pattern, Serita.  My nephew's ship went missing just over a week ago. You are wasting your time and mine checking files from last year."

The tech's sallow cheeks turned a harsh blotchy red as she struggled to revise her search parameters.

Mikhail remarked to Vontard in a casual tone, "This degree of clerical incompetence is hardly reassuring if Governor Lucan expects to do business with the Enclave.

Seemingly oblivious to his name-dropping, the worker looked up from her screen and hissed, "Slag off, jet jockey. I've got better things to do than scan for carcasses of spoiled rich brats. Check the back alleys of local joy houses or VR dens . . . unless your skyboy's already butchered into steaks and roasts at some lowtown chop shop."  
  
Mikhail's fists clenched, though he tried to conceal any overt reaction.  On the other hand, Vontard seemed to finally take offense at a flunky's insolence and backhanded the girl so hard that she pitched across the waist high divider onto a co-worker's desk, her nose streaming blood and mucus.

Two of the guards shoved over to the clerk's side and hauled her semi-conscious body to its feet, "How do you want us to dispose of it, milord?"

Suddenly there was a much darker edge to Vontard's voice than there had been earlier as he snarled, "I suppose I could order you to drop it off at one of the local chop shops that was referred to, but that would be too quick an ending, hardly serving to inspire the rest to improve their efficiency.  Better to deliver it to one of pain/sex vendors, unlimited contract.  Get a little value from her . . .  for a couple of months at least."

As the guards started to drag the limp figure away, one of them leered towards Vontard, "We can go a round or two before turning it over to Mistress Hellene, can't we?"  
  
"Just don't damage it too badly, or she'll be unwilling to reimburse me for my trouble."

"Aye, Guv'ner," the guard saluted and exited, leaving Mikhail shocked and disconcerted, increasingly wary of Lucan's so-called Executive Assistant.  So much so, that he wasn't really surprised when Vontard turned and faced him and he saw the distinct differences in the man's features, most strikingly, the change in his eyes from a sly, secretive brown to feral gold.

"Forgive my little game, First Captain. I just wanted to conduct a few tests of your patience, intuition, and business savvy.  After all, if we're going to be future partners, we'll need to know a great deal about one another's weaknesses . . . and strengths too, of course."

Mikhail's brows drew together as he questioned Lucan's abrupt manifestation.  "Forgive me, Governor, if I seem rather surprised by your . . .  appearance?  While I appreciate the personal attention, surely the risk of your assisting unguarded in the search for my nephew is too great . . ."

"Oh there's no real risk to me, First Captain," Vontard's voice developed a macabre echo.  "Vontard is more than a mere liaison, he's one of my many eyes and ears throughout  _La_   _Terre_.  He was a passenger on one of the pleasure cruisers that frequent this area and during the routine quarantine process, was tested for certain neural functions and discovered to be highly suitable.  After the testing, he was released to pursue the delights of my kingdom.  Of course, eventually his funds were depleted and he found himself owing a large amount of credits to the local casinos and exotic houses.  To avoid any unpleasantness, he signed an open-ended labor contract, agreeing to have the neural implant inserted that allows me to eavesdrop via his consciousness and even act through his body . . .  whenever necessary."

"I . . . see," Mikhail answered slowly, although his brain was racing. "By open-ended, I presume that means that Ser Vontard may terminate this contract at his discretion."

"Of course, First Captain. As soon as he can repay his initial indebtedness, along with interest charges, penalty fees.  Not to mention the surgical expenses and maintenance for his implant, and in addition, the air, cubic, and sustenance fees that are assessed on a daily, weekly, or monthly basis.  I don't have his account in front of me at the moment, but I would imagine that Vontard owes the Corporation upwards of one million credits."  
  
"These . . . fees that you mention, I presume that they will be included on our lodgings statement, so I can arrange for a credit transfer if necessary."

Lucan/Vontard gave a deprecatory laugh that sent chills up Stannis's spine, "Why First Captain Stannis, do you think me so poor a host as to charge guests for my hospitality.  You and Captain Travis are my very special guests.  Here to negotiate future business dealings between the Enclave and  _La Terre de la Nuit San Fin_.  You would hardly expect me to charge you while we are negotiating our arrangements for future trade and entertainment business dealings."

"I'm not quite sure what to expect from you, Governor.  After all, I came here in search of my nephew, Jason Stannis, because of a message that originated from here.  Beside its demands for trade concessions, the message contained a DNA sample that confirmed my nephew was being held in civil custody by the authorities of this base.  I thought that the Governor was the authority here, but I am prepared to deal with whoever is in charge in order to obtain Jason's safe release."

The liaison leaned gracefully against the barrier separating them from the computer work stations, as he glanced around at the terrorized clerks still frozen by the sudden revelation of the Governor's presence among them.

"This is hardly a suitable location for serious discussion, First Captain.  I shall have Vontard guide you to my office and we'll have a drink while we conduct our business dealings in a civilized fashion."

Gritting his teeth, Mikhail spoke up boldly, "If you don't mind, Governor. I would like to see my nephew's current condition and lodgings before we begin our negotiations.  After all, as the head of the Stannis trading cartel, you can hardly expect me to make an offer for a 'pig in a poke sack'."

"What quaint phrases you Free Traders have," Lucan/Vontard sneered.  "Very well, I agree to a brief meeting with your nephew, so that you can determine that we're not offering you 'damaged goods', but you will have to submit to being blindfolded.   Just a precaution, you understand.   People pay a great deal for the secrecy and safety of our inner sanctums and we wouldn't want to have that security compromised, even by accident."

Mikhail nodded reluctantly though secretly he was elated.   Even blindfolded, he trusted his other senses enough that he should be able to re-trace his steps or gather some clue about Jason's exact location within this underground maze.  Once he was shown where Jason was being held, he and Travis could easily locate the boy's cell and break him out.

Two new bodyguards had arrived within seconds of the departure of those escorting the wayward clerk to her new owner.  To Mikhail's dismay, one of them appeared to be carrying some sort of sensory-blinding helmet rather than the simple blindfold that he had expected.

He backpedaled, glaring at Lucan/Vontard with open distrust, "What's this? Some sort of neural dampening device?  After your little demonstration with Vontard, you can hardly expect me to allow you free access to my brainwaves."

Lucan/Vontard shrugged, "You were the one who insisted on seeing your nephew, First Captain . . . and considering your navigation and path-finding skills, you can hardly expect me to take you to him, with nothing more than a simple blindfold obscuring your senses.  Really, Captain, I thought you had more respect for my intelligence than that."

Stannis gritted his teeth, realizing that Lucan was much more than a mere gangster with political ambitions.  There was obviously a sharp intelligence behind the animal cunning that he used to keep the population of thieves, thugs, murderers, and other unsavory types in check. "Bring the boy to my room," he suggested, "or some centralized meeting area."

"That isn't possible, First Captain," Lucan's voice had hardened, losing its earlier syrupy persuasiveness. "Not if you want him in one piece.  The boy's foul-mouthed and belligerent and I'm afraid that my guards are becoming weary of his outbursts.  No, if you want to see him it will have to be on my terms and that means you'll have to agree to my request.  I'm well aware of the unsurpassed mnemonic abilities of most Free Trader Captains.   I simply can't allow you access to my security areas with that expertise intact."

"And just how do you propose to disable that expertise . . . temporarily, I would hope."

"By means of this sensory blinding helmet that you rejected earlier.  Examine it for yourself.   I assure you that it has no neural connections that would affect the intellect or decision making portions of your brain."

Stannis took the device gingerly, unwilling to admit that he wasn't really knowledgeable enough to identify any type of brain-altering circuitry.  He could see that most of the connections appeared to be in the back of the helmet towards the occipital and temporal lobes of the brain which controlled vision and hearing.  There was nothing in the frontal area which was the seat of consciousness and decision-making centers.

His hands clenched in frustration.  There was really no choice.  If he was going to get any chance to determine if Jason was safe, sane and whole, despite his captivity, he had to surrender to Lucan's control - - temporarily, at least.  Stannis pulled on the helmet, with the angry submission of a prisoner of war yielding to overwhelming forces.

For a brief moment, he was surrounded by total darkness, then ghost-like images began appearing inside his head.  Stannis started to yank the helmet off, but the security guards who had delivered the device restrained his arms forcefully.  He struggled in their grip, snarling, "Lucan, you double-crosser. You lied to me. There are sensory implants here, not just sensor blinding equipment."

"Just a minor deception, First Captain. A little distraction to keep you entertained while we're transported to your nephew's apartments.  Nothing dangerous, just a little diversion."

After his initial protest, Mikhail lapsed into silence, seemingly captivated by the images playing inside his brain.  Scenes of violence and carnage, scenes of victory and conquest, scenes of unbelievable sensuality and voluptuousness.

One of the two guards snickered as they hustled him along, "Well, so much for this old mossback.  He'll be lapping out of the Guv'ner's hand by the time we arrive at his nephew's cell.  What'll you want to bet, he doesn't even talk to that so-and-so when we get there.  He'll be that eager to get back into his dreamworld."

"I wouldn't be so sure," answered the second guard warily, as he studied Stannis's weathered features and burly frame. "This is one of those Free Traders.  They don't break that easily, even with limbic stimulation.  Stay on your toes, Mac.  He'll give us trouble one way or another, I'll make book on that.

V

Jason Stannis slumped on the hard cot that occupied most of his spartan cell.  There was a barely adequate waste disposal unit that emitted harsh chemical odors and a food dispenser that spat out dry, tasteless protein bars and just enough of a cloying sweet beverage twice daily to keep him marginally functional.  Though he was stiff and sore from the beating the guards had given him when he'd resisted their efforts to get his fingerprints and DNA sample, it wasn't the aches in his body that currently troubled him.

Rather it was the questions haunting him, running through his mind over and over again.   _Why am I still alive . . . and not part of some drone work crew, or even skinned and butchered?_    _What makes me more valuable_   _than the rest of the_  Jade's  _crew to whoever is running_   _this operation?  And just who is it?  Could this be some long-forgotten scheme of Servalan's . . . or even Carnell's?_

He buried his face in his hands, trying to dredge up his father's old memories regarding those two former and supposedly deceased antagonists.  But there was nothing more than scraps of half-forgotten nightmares.  Cally had done her work well, erasing Travis's one-time imprint on his unformed mind.  Of course, he had his own recollection of his father's old enemies based on information gleaned from discussions with Blake and Avon, even Cally.  There were a great many people who still carried a grudge against former Space Commander Travis - enemies on both sides of the law who had more than sufficient reason to wish the former Federation officer dead and buried.  However, there few who knew where to find his father these days . . . and even fewer who were aware of Jason's connection.

Jason raked bloodied fingers through his sandy hair.  That only left the Stannis connection as a possible reason for sparing his life.  And whoever thought the First Captain might be willing to pay anything more than a plugged two credit piece to retrieve him, dead or alive, was in for a rude awakening.  The First Captain had little use for his father, former Space Commander Travis and despite the fact that he had paid an outrageous amount to arrange for Jason's conception and artificial growth to maturity in the Auron placental cloning chambers, he too had proved a huge disappointment.  Only the intervention of Cally of Auron had given him any chance at having a life of his own.  A life that First Captain Mikhail Stannis had repeatedly expressed the opinion was a waste of the Stannis clan's valuable resources.

He heard guards fumbling with the electronic scanner at his door and wondered what they wanted with him now.  He'd given up trying to ambush them or even fake them out by playing dead.  His father might have been strong and wily enough to escape from captivity using similar tactics, but Jason had just gotten a precisely controlled beating for his efforts, leaving him bruised and aching though with no permanent damage.

"Don't try it again, skyboy," the smarter member of his detail had snarled. "Or next time we won't bother to leave your face intact.  Anyone who comes to claim you will just have take our word about your identity."  
  
He stared at the guard detail numbly, unwilling to believe who they had just escorted into his cell.  His so-called great-uncle -- Mikhail Stannis.   
  
The First Captain appeared the worse for wear, with blood-shot, watering eyes, sagging cheeks and saliva-flecked lips that looked like he had been gnawing on them.  Jason pushed stiffly into a sitting position, wondering if his disheveled appearance was due to genuine distress on the First Captain's part . . . or if it was all part of some scheme on Stannis's part to throw the guards off-balance while he called in a heavily-armed rescue team.  
  
Taking note of Jason's uneasy expression, the guard laughed crudely, "You gotta give the old man a minute to get his breath back.  The Guv'ner din't want him gettin' bored when we led him down here, having to be blindfolded and all.  So he offered him a little distraction with limbic implants on a VR sensor helmet.  Shouldn't cause no trouble, just a little short-term memory loss."   The guard continued with an evil leer, "Maybe you better remind him just who you are, just so he knows why he needs to cut a deal to fetch you back."  
  
Jason guided Mikhail over to his untidy, sweat-stained bunk and helped him sit down.  Kneeling stiffly in front of the older man, he whispered hoarsely, "First Captain . . . it's me, Jason.  Can you hear me?  Do you know I am?"

Stannis raked both hands down his face as he took a deep shuddering breath, then without warning he backhanded Jason, causing him to lurch backward, bleeding from his already battered mouth, with a growing welt under one eye.

"Of course, I know you, you young idiot.  I'm not in my dotage yet, though you keep this kind of nonsense up and you'll drive me there in record time.  Now, come over here and let me see what sort of damage they've done to you.  I don't intend to pay Lucan one more millicredit than necessary to retrieve your worthless carcass."  
  
Jason staggered to his feet, wiping away the blood that trickled down his chin and lurched over to Stannis's side warily, trying to stay out of the way of his powerful fist.  But Stannis clutched Jason's shoulder and pulled the boy down beside him on the sweat-stained cot.   
  
Flinching as Stannis's rough handling probed at the bruises and scrapes on his lanky body, Jason tried to maintain some degree of calm.  It didn't help that the First Captain's fingers seemed to be trembling as he examined Jason for permanent damage.  Not just trembling, the man actually pinched Jason's upper arm and then peered angrily into his eyes, before demanding in a hoarse voice, "Well, don't just sit there like a lump, boy.  Talk to me so at least I can tell if they left your tongue intact."  
  
"I'm in one piece, First Captain, more or less, " he replied in a sullen tone.  
  
Stannis slapped his face again, though not hard enough to draw blood this time. "Payattention **,** boy **.** Give me some reason to believe that they didn't knock your brain loose when they drugged and mugged you.  Recite the first level of tariff exemptions for a fifty megakilo Hornet trader."

For a moment, Jason stared at his great-uncle in disbelief, wondering if the old man had lost his mind.  Why did he want Jason to waste his breath and whatever short time they might have together with some trivial recitation of figures that most Free Traders never used in the first place.As he stared down at his bruised and swollen fingers trying to compose his thoughts enough to curse the old bastard to his face, he realized that Mikhail's fingers were pressing his over and over in a single repetitive pattern. 

He closed his eyes trying to recall that first year class on Outworld Communications and some of the unusual languages and dialects that Free Trade captains had to learn.  He'd passed the course--just barely.  But now Mikhail expected him to recall one of the most difficult and complex of the non-verbal trade languages.  Only this time his life and freedom depended on that knowledge.

He took a deep shuddering breath and tried to gather his scattered wits. What was the finger pattern for  **I UNDERSTAND**?   He drew his index finger across his uncle's palm and was gratified to see a momentary look of relief in those fierce blue-gray eyes, then he tried to make a sensible verbal reply regarding the tariff question.

"Ummuhumm, a fifty megakilo Hornet cruiser?  Are you sure you wouldn't rather hear something a little more useful . . . like the exemptions on a lightweight space yacht, like  _Balkis_?"

As Jason mumbled random facts about Nevyan salt blocks, Nippor silks, jades and medicines, Stannis's fingers pressed firmly into his palm, moving with careful deliberation.

**RESCUE COMES. . . . .WITH ME . . . NEED. . . COMPLEX. . . ANY DATA YOU HAVE?**

Jason's catalog of cargos and exemptions faltered momentarily then he stumbled on, trying not to give his guards any reason to interrupt them.

**NO. . .DRUGGED. . . CAME HERE.  GUARDS NO TALK . . . BEAT**

Stannis shook his head in exasperation, pushing himself up from Jason's sweaty bunk, "Useless, utterly useless.You're a waste of atmosphere and I ought to tell Lucan to have his guards toss you out the nearest airlock . . . but Jenna and the Matriarch would not approve.  So I guess I have to make the best deal I can.  Try not to get in any more trouble, Jason.  This is already going to cost the clan much more than we can afford.  At least stay alive so we can work Lucan's demands out of your lazy carcass for the next eighty years."

Mikhail pounded on the cell door, calling for the guards who appeared promptly enough for Jason to be sure that the entire conversation had been under surveillance, recorded for comprehensive analysis.  Hopefully, none of Lucan's people had ever been Free Traders or whatever chance he had for a rescue just went down the tubes.  As Mikhail stared back at him, Jason gave a furtive thumbs up but his uncle did not acknowledge it, leaving him to wonder if he had just imagined the entire nonverbal dialogue.  
  
He slumped back onto his bunk, turning his back to the door and his guard's taunts.  
  


 

 

VI

  
Jenna rolled over and looked at the chrono on her ring then groaned to herself.   
  
It was 0200 and she was no closer to getting to sleep than she had been when she first lay down.  Despite the fact that she and Vila had spent most of the artificially lighted day wandering through the facilities and asking questions in the bazaars, souks, and docking areas that made up the asteroid base of _La Terre de la Nuit San Fin.  
  
_ After the excitement at  _Moriarity's Redoubt_ the night before, they managed to keep a fairly low profile while scouting out the rest of the bars and taverns at the lower end of the docks.  Because of the way that _La Terre_  was constructed, the docking facilities and warehouses, refit and refuel yards, as well as its working class bars and bordellos were near the surface of the asteroid.  So the overall area that they had to cover was fairly compact.  Still, as Jenna had bought drinks and spread her cash around from  _The Big Bang_  to  _Hope's End,_  trying to turn up scuttlebutt about the  _Jade's_  crew, no one seemed willing to admit that the ship had ever existed, much less had grounded here less than a week before. That brittle silence and  the frightened expressions of those that she tried to talk with began to undermine her earlier self-assurance.

The situation worsened after she discovered that Vila had been correct in his assessment of Lucan's underground hideaway as one of the pestholes of the universe.  As a smuggler, she had run cargos into rough places before - rebel planets, outlaw strongholds, gunrunners' hideouts - but she had never felt an aura of terror like she sensed in every bar and dive that they had entered.  Even when Blake had docked  _Liberator_ at Space City, thinking that he could negotiate with the Terra Nostra, there hadn't been this overwhelming sense of futility and despair.

Jenna wasn't sure if it was due to the wholesale slavery that was present in almost every sector of  _La Terre_ , or whether it was the absolute power of life and death Governor Lucan exerted over his subjects.  She and Vila had watched in frozen horror as a shopkeeper who had supposedly fallen behind in his "sustenance assessment" was dragged screaming out of his tiny cubbyhole by two of Lucan's "tax collectors" and shoved in a disposal chute, which was then was then cycled into vacuum.  
  
No one tried to stop them or even protested, but just turned their heads and looked the other way.  Vila had taken a firm grip on her arm and dragged her away, muttering under his breath, "There's nothing we can do, Jenna.  You'll only get us both killed if you even try . . . and then who's going to rescue Jason?"

White-knuckled with repressed outrage, Jenna vowed to herself that she'd do everything in her power not just to rescue her son, but to blow this pesthole . . . and its so-called governor . . .  into a million pieces.

Showing an unusual aptitude for reading her thoughts (or at least her body language), Vila murmured, "Don't waste our time planning his downfall, Jenna.  You know how things work in a place like this.  Only the strongest and most cunning survive. Eventually one of his flunkies will slit his throat and toss Lucan's body out the airlock.  It's as certain as entropy."  
  
"Suppose I don't want to wait until the heat death of the universe before seeing him pay for what he's done?"   
  
Vila shrugged eloquently and even through the enveloping folds of the burqua, Jenna could read his anxiety, "I 'volunteered' to help rescue Jason . . .  not blow up a Terra Nostra stronghold."  
  
She'd rubbed absently at the crystal star maps coiling up her arms, then nodded in reluctant agreement, "All right, Vila. Where do you recommend that we try next to locate any information about Jason?"

"Well, we've checked out the bottom-feeders, why not try somewhere a little more upscale?  Maybe someone hanging out inLucan's own exotic entertainment hotspot might drop a hint about Lucan's 'new pet' or 'valuable hostage'."

<>Jenna almost balked, then reluctantly agreed.  After swiping their ID cards through the scanner so it could deduct its entry fee, Jenna and Vila were allowed aboard the express lift that provided  limited access to the  _Palace of Delights_.   The outrageous charge put a considerable dent in Jenna's disposable income, but that was the only way she and Vila were allowed into Lucan's exclusive playground.  
  
When they arrived, Jenna noted that the decor was typical of the Terra Nostra mindset.  There was lots of gilt and velvet wall hangings, swag curtains, rococo furniture, priceless Arachnean tapestries scattered on  _faux_  marble floors and beautiful girls lounging everywhere, wearing little more than six inch heels, red feathers and fake diamonds.

She sniffed suspiciously at the flute of Spican sparkling water she'd taken from one of the "free" trays of foods and beverages circulating through the room, trying to determine if it was drugged.  It wasn't that she suspected she or Vila were on anyone's hit list, but Lucan seemed to regard everyone as potential merchandise, and she preferred not to find herself in the clutches of someone smarter and meaner than the slave trader who'd tried to take her the previous night.  Especially since she and Vila would be strictly on their own, with no "knight in black leather" to help them deal with would-be captors.

Sipping at her drink, which was definitely an inferior brand, Jenna made a slow circuit of the room, evading the drunken gropings of the less wealthy of the  _Palace's_ clientele and keeping her ears open for anything that might reveal where Lucan's less cooperative "guests"  could be residing.  She also listened for any mention of a "lost" ship or its luckless crew.

Nothing.

No one seemed interested in anything but drug deals and sexual negotiations.  There was some mention of slaves bought and sold on the market but mainly it dealt with odds of their likely survival in the next blood sport event. However the slaves being discussed were apparently seasoned fighters and there was no mention of recent purchases of new,  inexperienced slaves.

She felt a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, wondering if Vila was right about her getting in over her head.  Glancing around in search of his dark-clad presence, she hoped the two of them could make their exit before she lost what little composure she had left.  But to her dismay, the thief had seemingly vanished.  There was no sign of the dark burqua, or, on the off chance that he had ditched it in an effort to exercise his pickpocket skills, she didn't spot his amiable expression and nimble figure anywhere among the  _Palace's_ patrons.  Groaning angrily to herself, Jenna made a more complete search, ducking into shadowy niches and nooks and startling more than a few couples in the middle of high priced sex.

Just when she was about to give up and return to their room, she spotted the shadowy form slipping out of one of the rooms set aside for private orgies or big stakes gambling.

Hurrying over, she caught him by the arm and hissed, "Where the hell have you been?  Did you pick up any useful information?"  
  
He shook his head as she continued grimly, "Neither did I. We might as well leave."  
  
Vila did not protest, which surprised her considering the abundance of scantily clad females present.  Deciding that he was probably just as frightened as she was, Jenna did not press him any further about his activities inside the Palace, until they returned to their room and he began peeling himself out of the burqua and depositing numerous bags of coins and jewels on the room's wobbly table.

"What the hell . . ."

Her eyes opened wider as one of the smaller bags spilled out a scintillating burst of red, green, and blue faceted stones.  
  
"Just trying to do my share, since you're already short of funds," Vila shrugged with uncharacteristic modesty and generosity.  "And I saw the dent those entry fees made in our ready cash.  Thought we might need more walking around money . . . especially if we're going to hit the bars again."

Jenna gave a hollow ghost of a laugh, "Looks like you're the only one who got anything worthwhile from that little excursion, Vila.  I'm sorry I never really appreciated your skills before." 

She rubbed her hands down her face, ignoring the jangle of her various rings, feeling only the exhaustion that threatened to drag her into the dark, "It's been a long day, with little to show for it, except for your contribution.  Let's try to get some rest and then make an early start tomorrow."

Vila nodded in avid agreement, muttering about his swollen and abused feet, while Jenna plopped down on the stained and lumpy mattress where she had slept the night before.

But despite her exhaustion, the anxiety she'd felt earlier only increased, leaving her head throbbing and her stomach tied into knots.  No matter what she did to blank her mind, she couldn't get to sleep.  She ran through cargo inventories, computed fuel consumption ratios, even counted up tariff exclusion clauses, but none of it quieted her mind enough so she could rest.

Instead, whenever she closed her eyes, pressing her palms against them and desperately seeking to empty her mind, the same scene replayed on the inside of her eyelids.  Jason, battered and bruised, sprawled before her.  Then a dark figure would pull his head up, exposing his bloodied features and declare, "One male drone, unskilled.  Slight cosmetic damage but still useful as a sex slave or combat drone, though too skinny to butcher out.  For sale to the highest bidder."  But no matter how much she offered to free him from those shadowy clutches, it was never enough and Jason would be dragged away.  
  
She threw off the clammy sheets, lurching out of the bed and into the fresher, closing the door before she turned on the light.  The cheap vapor bulb cast harsh shadows as she stared at the unfamiliar features in the mirror.  Her eyes were reddened by strain and lack of sleep, but so far there seemed to be no indication of inflammation around the inserts that had changed her appearance so dramatically.  Even the nose and brow rings weren't causing problems and as Jenna stared at them speculatively, she wondered if she ought to consider permanently adopting that pragmatic method of keeping extra cash on hand.   
  
Rubbing her forehead in frustration, she wondered again why she had been so insistent on taking part in this ill-conceived rescue mission.  All during Travis's bonding trials, she'd actively resisted her clan's pressures toward motherhood.  Yet when confronted with Jason, the cloned results of her uncle's genetic meddling, she had foolishly persuaded Travis to accept the boy without a murmur of protest.  
  
It had been a soft-hearted mistake on her part that had nearly cost Travis his life and his sanity.  Foisting the boy off on Cally, Blake and Avon for psychic re-training had given them a brief respite until Jason had returned almost a year ago.  Mikhail had promptly enrolled him in the Starliner School, believing that the proper curriculum could overcome Jason's genetically reinforced stubbornness and independent nature.  
  
But it was a lost cause from the beginning.  
  
So here she was, trying to rescue him from the clutches of a Terra Nostra capo who made Servalan look like a penny-ante politician.

Jenna shook her head as she tried to clear her mind once again, muttering under her breath, "Stay focused, dammit. Vila was right.  This place is a slime pit compared to Freedom City.  Ask the wrong questions or even talk to the wrong people and we'll wind up dead meat on a slab."

She tried to turn on the faucet and splash some cold water on her face, then remembered that the slattern who'd rented them the room, had demanded an extra 10 credits for "use of the facilities".  Apparently water was a valuable commodity on  _La Terre._

"To hell with it," she stared at the stranger's reflection in the distorted, unbreakable mirrored surface. "There's no longer any choice.  It's the  _Redoubt_  or nothing."

She tucked a note under Vila's cheek, where it rested on the pillow.  Apparently nothing interfered with his sleep, certainly not doubts or fears about Jason's fate.  She told him that she'd be at the  _Redoubt_  and to meet her there for breakfast, which knowing Vila was likely to be after noon.  That should give her time enough to play her trump card . . . and hope it didn't blow up in her face.

Securing the door behind her, Jenna strode purposefully to  _Moriarty's Redoubt._   Of all the bars they'd hit during their search for information about a Free Trader 'guest', the  _Redoubt_ was the only one that didn't leave the hairs on the back of her neck prickling with a sense of overwhelming mistrust.  Its owner/bartender was no saint.  Jenna knew the scars on his body and name he bore attested to the crime he had committed.  Still, atrophied as it might be, she had to believe that his sense of honor would not allow him to betray one with the blood-ties to his former clan that his sense of smell should have told him she had.

Much to her relief, Cub-Killer was still on duty at the bar though most of the hard-core players had departed for more exotic locales.  She glanced around at the remaining spacers nursing their drinks until they stumbled off to sleep in some quiet doorway.  There were even a couple of cyber-jocks jittering down from their last big jolt.  It was the kind of crowd that most dive owners would have swept out with the garbage before locking up for the day.  But Cub-Killer seemed unusually tolerant, even when Jenna ordered a full pot of tea, indicating that she was not planning to leave anytime soon.

To her surprise, he also brought a platter of toast and marmalade and a container holding a damp, warm cloth that smelled of mint to her table.  Pointing at the bowl with a sneer on his scarred features, he growled "Clan scent markings human stink nearly covers . . .  face and hands, you wash.  Then talk we can, maybe . . .  or not."

Jenna pushed down her irritation at the scorn in his voice, knowing that to a species as strongly affected by smell as the Kyrenians were, she undoubtedly stank.  But at least he was giving her a chance to clean up a little before engaging in a little friendly conversation, which just might enable her to obtain the information she so desperately wanted.

She wiped her face, scrubbed her hands, then delicately patted the crystal tattoos that twined up her arms to the shoulders.  Even with the audience present, she would have stripped off her top and washed even further, except Cub-Killer signaled his apparent satisfaction by sitting down beside her and pouring them both mugs of tea.

For a long time they sat silent, savoring the warm spicy fragrance of the tea.  Jenna fidgeted, but whatever Cub-Killer had on his mind, he was not eager to speak.  Finally after pouring out the dregs of the pot, he hissed in a voice so harsh she almost could not make out its meaning.  
  
" Lives yet, does M'reeth Goldeneye?"  
  
Somewhat taken aback, Jenna nodded, then answer uncertainly, "As far as I know . . . she lives.  A dowager queen, no longer breeding."  
  
"Good enough for her were no other males," he curled his scarred lip.   
  
"Many live young, she bore . . ." he halted, then continued hoarsely. "For Nightsinger clan she bore many strong males, fertile females.  Cubs of hers, strong, fast, clever.  One male cub shipped with you not so long past?"  
  
Jenna nodded slowly, recalling Phrath's swift claws and swifter skill with weapons.  He did not brag of his heritage, but it was there, tattooed on his forehead for anyone to see.  His presence on her ship meant his scent markings were imprinted on her.  Though what Cub-Killer's reaction might be was anyone's guess.  
  
"Mindless chatter you do not make, unlike most monkey-humans," he cured his scarred lip, baring his fangs. "Why here, are you, Chandra, Captain of the  _Sabre_?  Safer harbors, better cargos, elsewhere you could find?"

"Yes," she nodded slowly, knowing she was taking a risk lying to him like this, but admitting her true link to Jason was dangerous.  Better to pretend disinterest in the boy, except as a valuable commodity, and offer to "buy""  information from him.

"Not for free-lancers. The Enclave has this sector sewed up tight.  To get a foot in the door, you need connections . . . the right sort of connections."

"This connection you seek, how to make it is your plan?"  
  
"Rumor has it that First Captain Stannis is Lucan's guest and he's trying to locate one of his kin.  If I could get to the boy first, Stannis would be in my debt . . .  guaranteeing me a position as an Enclave captain.  So where can I find the boy?"   
  
"Dangerous game you play, Chandra Captain."  There was a mocking contemptuous note to Cub-Killer's voice. "For location of Lucan's hostage, heavy price you must be willing to pay.  Do not think that much currency or trade metal is in  _Sabre's_ hold  
 . . . or much better quarters and company you would be keeping.  More useful than light-fingered male as Amagon maiden you are trying to pass."   
  
"Light-fingered male?" Jenna echoed hoarsely, realizing that Cub-Killer had easily seen or more likely smelled through Vila's disguise.  What did that mean for them now?  Clan ties might keep him from betraying her, but if he gave away Vila's secret, that would be almost as bad.  Vila was her ace in the hole, her one hope of getting Jason free without setting off every alarm in the complex.  
  
"That light-fingered male is more useful than he appears," she answered with brittle defiance, trying to hide her fear. "Let's just get down to business. What's your price to sell me the location of Lucan's hostage?"

With careful deliberation, Cub-Killer sniffed at her hands and arms before answering, "Guns you may have run, but drugs and slaves . . .  that stink you have not.  Why Stannis cub so important is that your honor you are willing to barter in order to claim him?"

Jenna froze, her stomach churning at Cub-killer's probing question.  Could he really tell that much about her past simply by her scent?  If so, what chance did she have of deceiving him about her real reason for making this deal?  
  
He sniffed again, "Fear you are feeling. Good that is, for half a chance have you now to survive." <>"Stop beating around the bush," she said hoarsely. "And tell me what I have to do to locate that Free Trader hostage?"  
  
"Drugs you are willing to transport then . . .  for information about Governor's hostage?

"What sort of drugs? Not  _shadow_ , I won't risk losing my ship."

"Not  _shadow_  . . .  too soon,  _shadow_  kills.  When users dead, no drugs they need, no cash they pay.  _Nova_  you ever use?"

Jenna knew of the potent neural stimulant which was the drug of choice for renegade pilots and rim-runners who often used it to keep going during long-distance smuggling runs.  It wasn't addictive . . . or so rumor said, but it was very hard on the nervous system, causing tremors, paranoia, depression and other dangerous side effects for anyone who was more than just a casual user.

"I've tried it once or twice," she lied again, hoping Cub-Killer's nose was not as sharp as it seemed to be.  Or that he might assume she was lying about her frequency of use, rather than the fact she'd avoided it altogether.

<>He gave a snort of disgust, letting her know that he wasn't fooled by her self-deception.   
  
" _Supernova_  have you heard of?" <>  
  
"A little," she admitted reluctantly. "Like  _nova_ , only with a bigger kick, a stronger rush."  
  
Cub-Killer stared at her enigmatically, the pupil of his remaining bright green eye narrowed to a tiny slit despite the shadows in the room.  Something about his expression or the crouched defensiveness of his body language set off alarms in Jenna's mind, but she could not stop now.  This was likely her last chance, her only chance to obtain information about Jason's location.  She'd do whatever it took, illegal or immoral, in order to learn Jason's present location, and worry about the consequences once Jason was free and on her ship headed back to the Enclave.    
  
Cub-Killer's paw grasped her wrist, his retractable claws extended and pressing against her pulse point, almost drawing blood, " Big risk you take, but desperate you are, I sense. Test your resolve they will before trusting you with drugs.  But if bargain you are willing to keep . . .  for information only, then information I will give you. Once their test you pass."  
  
"Just give me the location of Lucan's captive and  _Sabre_ will run a cargo of  _supernova_  . . . anywhere you want."

VII

  
Swathed in the stifling tent of a burqua, Vila slumped in the back corner of _Moriarty's Redoubt_ , the back of his mind niggling at him about Jenna's abrupt departure early this morning.  He'd read the note she left, then crumpled it in frustration, wondering just how much trouble she was headed for right now.  Despite her independent trader guise, Vila was well aware that Jenna did not truly realize the dangers here.  Normally, he would have buried his head under his pillow until noon at the earliest, but this place set off all kind of alarms in his skull, while his gifted fingers tingled with dread.  They needed to stop fooling around and bust Jason out of stir, so they could make their getaway.  But now Jenna had gone and got herself misplaced.

 _Well, it's only 0400_  he thought to himself.  _Maybe she's just following up on some leads on her own._   And his darker, more pessimistic self muttered, _And maybe she's stuck her nose into the kind of trouble that'll get us both killed._

Even though  _La Terre de la Nuit San Fin_  lived up to its name, there were definitely dead times when, if the local bars didn't shut down, at least most of their clientele found other things to do. Currently, the  _Redoubt_  was relatively quiet, so a man could drink in peace and contemplate his future . . .  however grim it might be.

Reluctantly keeping in character, he ordered hot tea, but as soon as the waitress turned her back, Vila quickly fortified the beverage with healthy slug of adrenaline and soma.  Slipping the cup under his veil, he stared around the room at the snoring and ill-tempered patrons, wishing that he'd saved this flask for more convivial surroundings.

<>Still, there was something to be said for some of the scenery, as he stared at a pretty young thing with a full bottle and a single glass on her table, sitting all alone.  She clearly wasn't a working girl, with her golden blonde hair woven into an elaborate construction of braids and plaits.  Though she was alone, the deadly blaster holstered conspicuously on her right hip served as a clear warning to any would-be Casanovas.  
  
Vila took a deep swallow of his fortified tea then fluttered over to the blonde gunslinger's table, hoping he might be able to engage her in a little "girl talk".  Though absolutely certain that Jenna would not approve of any extracurricular activity that did not further their quest for data on Jason's whereabouts, one never knew who might have some little tidbit of gossip about Lucan's operations.  Besides Vila would definitely enjoy fishing for information in the company of such a yummy tidbit as the elaborately coifed blonde.

As he rustled and squirmed, trying to get settled at her table, the blonde stared at him with a combination of bemused interest and suspicion.  Before he could get comfortable, she snapped the blaster out of its holder and held it firmly under Vila's veiled nose.

"Not so fast . . . mister . . ." she hissed in a guarded undertone. "You may have fooled the rest of these yahoos with that walking tent, but no woman alive moves like that . . . or  _sits_  like that.  So just keep those hands where I can see them, right on that cup . . . and try not to faint."

She added the last as Vila slumped sideways, horrified that she had seen through his disguise so quickly.  He attempted a high-pitched whisper, "I'm afraid you are mistaken, my dear.  While I may not be the most attractive of my father's ten daughters, there has never been any doubt . . ."  
  
The blonde raised her weapon slightly so it pressed against the bridge of his nose, causing Vila to stare down its enormous barrel, trying not to go cross-eyed.  "Don't lie to me again,  _hatha,_ " she spat, the contemptuous term for a particularly unattractive breed of swamp rat ringing harshly from that voluptuous mouth.  
  
Vila swallowed hard, wishing he could raise the veil long enough to gulp down his tea and lubricate his dry throat, "All right, all right, but it wasn't myidea.  I'm here with Captain Chandra on a rescue mission, trying to recover . . . a. . .a fellow spacer from the Governor's clutches," he spewed out in a whispered gush of words.

"Your captain's a fool," the blonde continued in a deadly undertone, holstering the weapon as smoothly as she had drawn it. "Risking her hide . . . and yours . . . trying to break someone out of  _Malbolgia_."

" _Malbolgia . . ._ what's that?" Vila asked apprehensively.

<>"Lucan's prison . . . or holding facility for important 'guests'."  The blonde gazed down at the half-empty glass between her slender, well-manicured fingers. "Named after an ancient city of the dead . . . so you can guess just how difficult it will be to break someone out of there."  
  
Despite his growing misgivings, Vila retorted almost defiantly. "I'm the best there is at breakin' in, bustin' out and general purse lifting. I even busted into Central Control once."

The blonde an amused brow as her penetrating gaze seemed to pierce right though the tent-like burqua, "Maybe you're not as hopeless . . .  or helpless as you look, little thief."

His mouth dropped open at the sudden hungry look in those glittering blue eyes and he started to edge back to the table he had just left, but the gunslinger grabbed his hand in a surprisingly strong grip, " Tell me your name, little thief.  I'm looking for a job  
. . . and you and your partner are going to need all the firepower you can get, if you plan to take on Lucan and break someone out of  _Malbolgia_."

"My name's Vila Restal . . . I'm not sure we can afford your fee," he whispered, dry-mouthed.

"Well, Vila Restal, I've got a special rate today for thieves . . ." her voice dropped to a breath of a whisper. "And Free Trader pilots."

Vila moaned softly to himself, wondering how he'd gotten in so far over his head.  "All right . . . what's your name? You can't expect me to introduce you to my partner unless I know your name?"

<>"Just call me Soolin," the blonde murmured, patting Vila on the cheek. "And I'm beginning to think this will be the start of a beautiful friendship."  
  
Cub-Killer limped out of the  _Redoubt's_  storeroom, dragging himself over to their table.  Vila watched nervously as the gunslinger and saloon owner exchanged glances and cold sweat oozed out of his pores as he stared into the saloon owner's one fierce green eye.  Obviously some kind of bargain had been struck between these two . . . and he had to wonder if he was the mouse or the cheese. He stared in dismay at the luscious but dangerous blonde and bartender who could sell his identity to Lucan's thugs anytime it suited him. Vila felt like burying his face in his hands and whimpering, "Just get it over with" until Cub-killer hissed at him, "Cowardly snuffling cease you at once. Fast gun Soolin's talent for sale is and big help to Chandra Captain, she can be. "  
  
Vila's head was spinning trying to keep up with the Kyrenian's hissing accent and fractured syntax, but he seemed to be safe -- for the moment at least.   
  
Glancing away from Cub-Killer's gaze, he suddenly noticed that a large group of unusually sober spacers had just entered the  _Redoubt_.  As the relief barman ambled over to take their order, the Kyrenian's whiskers suddenly quivered in alarm. Before Vila could ask him what was wrong, one of the seated spacers pulled out a small but deadly neurocharger, which could fry the nervous system of anyone in the general vicinity, and pushed into the terrified barman's face.  
  
Ignoring the weapon, Cub-Killer limped over to the armed group, his sound hand resting ever so lightly on the savage three-pronged ripping claw secured at his side.   
  
"Engineer First Spalden of trade ship  _Vixen._ No credit have you remaining, no welcome here until bills past due have been paid."  
  
At one time, Cub-Killer had planned to use  _Vixen_  and her crew to transport his cut of this batch of Lucan's supernova, but Spalden was greedy . . .  and dangerous.  He kept pushing for a bigger share of the profits, up to the point that Cub-Killer would have little to show for all that he had risked in making the connection with Lucan.  Which was why he had tentatively accepted Captain Chandra's offer to transport the drugs in exchange for information about Lucan's newest "guest".  Greater profit, with less risk . . . or so he believed.  Only now it appeared that Spalden and his crew were prepared to eliminate him as the middleman link to Lucan.   
  
Engineer Spalden, who had been an impressively muscular individual at one time, showed the evidence of years of bad whiskey and dockside food.  His chest currently sagged over his beltline while the callused hands resting on that overstretched belt showed a fine tremor from too much  _nova_  use.  Still, he was a dangerous foe and Cub-Killer was aware that the group with him not only included disgruntled spacers from  _Vixen's_  crew, but a number of Lucan's hired thugs who frequented this end of the docks.  Clearly he could talk a bigger game than the Kyrenian bar owner had previously credited him.  
  
"Seeks new partner, Lucan does?" Cub-Killer fixed his remaining eye on the uniformed and armored thugs who were part of Spalden's group.  
  
"Outlived your usefulness, Furface," one of them sneered.   
  
"Close and lock those doors, boys," Spalden sneered. "We wouldn't want anyone else barging into our private party."  
His eyes wandered over to the table where Soolin and Vila were still seated, "Especially since we got a couple of 'tarts' for dessert."  
  
Vila cringed, having seen this kind of blood-letting and the brutal sexuality that followed too many times to believe that this lot would even notice his gender by the time they satisfied their appetite for violence and got on to the gang rape.  He cringed inside the burqua, wondering if he might be able to slit the back of the tent-like covering and slip away while they were occupied with whatever they had planned for Cub-Killer.   
  
Then he felt Soolin's fingers resting on his hand as she murmured, "Don't worry, little thief. I won't let them hurt you."  
  
He wanted to yammer, "It's not me I'm worried about," then he stared into her calm expression, noting the ruthless assurance behind those soft features, then shivered, almost feeling sorry for any of the spacers taken in by the pretty blonde packaging.  
  
Meanwhile, Spalden had swaggered over to Cub-Killer, his bearlike bulk overshadowing the crippled and scarred Kyrenian,  
"You thought you could cut me outta the deal, Fuzzbutt, but you were wrong. So that skanky little free trader bitch is gonna be the main course at Oasis  tonight and I'll be handling your supply of  _supernova_ from now on.  Besides, the Governor wants you put out of business and a genuine human running this bar.  Not some furfaced misfit, but someone who knows their place and treats human beings with the respect due 'em."  
  
"Proper bribes and fees this one pays, monkey face." Cub-Killer spat, his fur starting to roach up along his back as his tail bottled out to twice its normal size.  "Due respect for proper customers is rendered.  Cash-customers paying, not stinkin', no tail, red-rumped, sticky-pawed monkey-faced thieves."  
  
Spalden's face became so mottled and swollen, Vila was amazed that the man didn't drop dead from sheer unvented spleen, but it was clear that the engineer was canny enough to stay out of range of Cub-Killer's claws.   
  
"You'll pay for those insults, you furry excuse for a barkeep. After my friends and I pull out your claws, cut off your raggedy ears, and carve our initials all over your mangy hide, I'm going to cut out your tongue and use it to polish my boots every day."  
  
Cub-Killer listened to those threats unperturbed, then stared down at Spalden's boots and deliberately spat on them.  
  
"Early start, maybe should be getting for such nasty coverings.  Ashamed you must be of such weak back paws.  Many foes have I left with guts steaming on the ground, victims of my rear claws."  He crouched menacingly, as his remaining eye fixed on Spalden's overhanging belly. "Easy target you are, Spalden Engineer First."  
  
Taken momentarily aback by Cub-Killer's feral snarl, Spalden swallowed hard then stepped back, trying to make sure he was out of range of those deadly claws.  
  
"Bannister, Clyde, get those nerve-rods over here and cover this raggedy ass fur rug, while Kang and the rest of you frisk the barflies at the tables.  Empty their pockets and then shove 'em out the door, so we won't be interrupted."

Vila tensed as the rogue spacers started to roust the remainder of the  _Redoubt's_  half-stoned customers out from the tables where they were nodding off. One of the more amorous of Spalden's crew sauntered over to the table where he and Soolin were seated.

<>He leered down at the blonde gunfighter, seeing the blaster holstered by her side.  
  
"Oooh, you're a tough one, aren't you?  Carrying a gun and everything.  I just bet you've got a knife or two hidden down your blouse and strapped to your leg."

With eyes half-closed in anticipation, he removed the gun from its holster then stuck his flabby fingers inside Soolin's shirt and fumbled at her breasts as he rubbed his crotch against her back.  Vila stared at her in anguish, ashamed that he was too frightened to even try and stop this renegade from humiliating her.  As the spacer bent over and fumbled at waistband of her trousers, continuing his groping and planning to progress to a little rape to keep entertained while Spalden and the rest gratified their blood lust, one of the others snarled.

"Oh for pity's sake, Mungo, keep it in your pants a little longer. At least, till we secure this area and make sure we won't be interrupted."

"I was just making sure she wasn't armed," Mungo protested sullenly. "You never know where some of these fast guns keep their extra weapons."

"Yeah, right inside her panties, Mungo.  Just make sure all the tables are empty and we've cleaned out the stragglers."

The last of the dawdlers had been herded out, too sleepy or stoned to make even a token protest as Spalden and his gang frisked them and lifted their purses.  In most cases, they collected few coins for their trouble, but one or two individuals still had credits left.

They seemed to have cleared out most of the few remaining drinkers, except for the far back corner where a lone figure slouched, an untouched glass sitting in front of him.

"One last drunk, sleepin' it off, Spalden," one of the younger gang members called.  "You want I should wake him or shoot him here.  He's just some pitiful one-eyed misfit."

<>As the young spacer momentarily turned his attention to his fellow gang member's reply, he felt the neuro rod wrenched out of his grasp and a hard blow to the back of his neck that dropped him like he'd been stun charged.  A harsh voice snarled, "This is the second time you bit off more than you can chew, Spalden. There won't be a third."  
  
Vila felt his heart lurch at that graveled voice and the tall figure that unfolded from the chair, swathed in a long black cloak and wide-brimmed hat.

"Travis, what are you . . ." but before he could finish the question, Travis tossed the neuro rod in his direction. "Here, use this if you know how."

Vila fumbled the catch, but before he could drop it Soolin had snatched it out of his hand and was turning its targeting field to wide rather than narrow focus.  As she aimed at their captors, she discovered that on wide beam, the weapon's effect was little more than a mild headache.  To her chagrin, Spalden's crew was able to shake off the effects without it slowing them down.

She reached inside her blouse and tearing off a skin patch, retrieved a small deadly needler, loaded with poison darts and pitched the neuro rod back to Vila.  He fumbled with its controls trying to turn them back to narrow beam, but all he succeeded in doing was setting off some kind of alarm.

<>Totally chagrined by his ineptitude with the weapon, Vila heaved it in the direction of Spalden's men and was gratified to see them diving in all directions as if he'd tossed a strontium grenade in their midst.  A few seconds later, he was even more shocked when the weapon exploded with a force only slightly less than that of a grenade.  
  
"You must have overloaded its circuits, Vila." Soolin gave him an approving nod. "Good thinking."

Vila stared at his hand in shock and barely managed not to fall over in a dead faint at his own narrow escape.  He glanced around at the melee in progress, wondering whether he should try to acquire some sort of weapon or just make do with the what was at hand.  Cub-Killer's claws both natural and man-made had left their mark on the backs and bellies of a half dozen of Spalden's gang and while Travis's cyber arm no longer contained a laser pistol, it was a deadly weapon in its own right, snapping the necks of two of the thugs that Cub-killer had disarmed with his claws.

The odds were slightly more in their favor, with Soolin using her dart gun to pick off any of Spalden's gang still carrying neurochargers.  Even outnumbered, Travis made use of his superior hand-to-hand combat training, smashing faces and throttling his opponents, while dodging thrown furniture and weapon fire.  One of Spalden's spacers, did manage get close enough to smash Travis in the back with one of the chairs, driving the Free Trader captain to his knees, at the mercy of his opponent.

Terrified though he was, Vila grabbed up a broken chair leg and clubbed the man, but only succeeded in distracting his attention from Travis.

"That's not nice . . . to hit a man while he's not looking," rumbled the oversized goon. "Maybe I should teach you some manners," and he grabbed Vila around the throat, determined to choke the life out of him.  Vila gasped and wheezed as his vision went dark, hoping that the next image he saw would be gorgeous virgins in red fur.  
  
Instead, it was Travis's grim one-eyed visage looming over him, "Take some deep breaths, Restal. You're lucky he didn't crush your larynx.  If you're going to pick a fight with a man that outweighs you by twenty kilos, you might at least have a weapon to hand."

"Don't like weapons," Vila coughed hoarsely, feeling the rawness in his throat and the bruises that were beginning to darken around his neck. "Always going off at the wrong time, in the wrong place.  Somebody could get killed . . . and it might be me."

<>Vila rubbed his face, trying to pull his thoughts together and then realized that he was no longer wearing the tent-like burqua.  He groped wildly for its enveloping folds, feeling almost naked without the veils to hide behind.  Travis noticed his distress and quickly reassured him, with a grim laugh.  
  
"Your tent is still in one piece, somewhere around here.  Soolin peeled you out of it in record time, so she could make sure that you were breathing properly.  That lady gunfighter seems to have a soft spot for clumsy thieves, Restal.  You better watch your step.  She doesn't look like the kind of woman who'll take 'not interested' for an answer."

Vila rubbed his hand through his thinning hair, his heart threatening to jump out of his chest at Travis's off-handed jibe.  He liked Soolin.  What wasn't there to like, silky blonde hair, smooth rosy skin, a sly smile . . . and the eyes of a stone cold killer.

He massaged his aching head.  How did he get caught up in these messes anyway?  A pleasant social call to see what his friend Dani McRae was up to and suddenly he was dragged into Jenna's undercover infiltration of the slime pit of the galaxy.  
  
Now, after a little tea and friendly conversation and he winds up the lovelight of a cold-eyed fast gun.  Burying his face in his hands, he groaned, "I might as well just shoot myself and get it over with. We're never going to get out of this alive.  It was a stupid idea to begin with and there's even less chance of it succeeding now, the further we get dragged into Lucan's cesspool."  
  
Travis buried his cyber hand in Vila's shirt and dragged the thief forward until they were nose to nose, "What plan?" he grated in a hoarse whisper. "What are you doing here, in that stupid disguise?  Who is Chandra anyway?  Is she working for Avon?  Has Blake given up on being a crusading freedom fighter and decided to become a crusading corruption fighter instead?  Don't try to lie to me, Restal . . . or I'll wring your head off your skinny little neck."  
  
Vila stared into Travis's blue-gray eye, seeing the former Federation officer's steely resolve to know the truth and also realizing if he revealed Jenna's plan, Travis might not kill him right now, but Jenna definitely would kill him when she found out.  He groaned piteously, wondering which would be the easiest way to die when he heard an icy clear voice from behind Travis.  
  
"Let him go, spacer . . . or I'll blow a hole in the back of your head."

"The hand's cybernetic, gunslinger, with neuro impulses that continue even if my brain's a bloody mush.  Blow my brains out and your little friend still gets his head twisted clean off.  Now, you want to put that gun down and we'll all have a little friendly conversation about what Blake and his Freedom Party are up to at this end of the universe."

"They're not up to anything," Vila protested, with the outraged innocence of a perpetual liar who is disbelieved the one time he tells the truth.  "Swear on my honor as a thief . . ."

Travis gave a disbelieving snort while Soolin covered her lush pink lips with one still well-manicured hand and tried not to giggle.  
  
"Well, it is the four-square honest truth.  Blake and  _Liberator_  aren't within a hundred parsecs of this planet.  Just ask Cub-Killer if you don't believe me.  He can smell a lie, can't he?"   
  
He turned his most ingenuous, butter-wouldn't-melt-in-his-mouth expression on Soolin, who was quite convinced that there was much more to Vila's secret than he was currently willing to admit to this cold-eyed hardcase.  Still, whatever Vila Restal's and Captain Chandra's mission here on  _La_   _Terre,_ Soolin was inclined to take Vila's side . .  for the moment at least.  
  
Travis squatted back on his heels, wiping blood from the corner of his mouth, his eye dark and hooded.  "All right, Restal, I'll take your word that Blake's not involved in trying to bring down Lucan's operation.  But Jason's currently a 'guest' of the Governor and the First Captain and I intend to get him out any way that we can.  We could use someone with your break-in skills, once we find him.  It'd be a chance to have the First Captain in your debt."  
  
Vila swallowed hard, staring into that grim face, "Sorry," he squeaked, "but I've been hired by Captain Chandra and I can't break that contract."  
  
Though Travis's expression did not change, Vila could see the tension in his body and sense his growing rage, "All right then. We'll buy Jason's freedom if we have to . . .  or blow Lucan and his operation to hell and gone, if that's what it takes.  Just don't get in my way again, Restal . . . or I'll kill you as soon as I see you."   
  
Climbing stiffly to his feet, Travis glared around at the bodies sprawled on the  _Redoubt's_  blood-stained floor. Some were temporarily paralyzed by the neuro rod, others were dead or still unconscious from a blow of Travis's cyber fist, still others had succumbed to Soolin's darts.  
  
As for First Engineer Spalden, the ringleader of the mob, Cub-Killer had battled him  _mano_  a  _mano_ , leaving the  _Vixen's_  engineer gutted and gasping out his life in a back alley behind the  _Redoubt._    
  
Travis glanced out the back door, wrinkling his nose at the stench.  
  
"Man that big, it's going to take him a long time to die."  
  
"Not so long, maybe. Claws tipped with nerve poison were.  Easier death than he deserves, perhaps.  Easier death than for me, he had planned.  Heart stops even now."   
  
Travis listened, hearing the moaning breaths sigh out and then a sudden silence.   
  
"Easier than he planned for you, for sure. What are you going to do with the bodies?"

Cub-Killer shrugged, "Walking wounded on their own are. By opening hours must leave or to alley enforcers they will be turned over.  As for rest of bodies . . . street committee dues I pay monthly, trash pick-up assured.  Any trash."

"Unless the chop shops find them first," Travis answered in a flat tone.

"Carrion eaters, all of them," he wrinkled his nose in distaste. "Yet worse than carrion eater have I become.  Strongest fighter, swiftest killer in Nightsinger Clan once I was . .until crippled, scarred and cast out.  But still honor and loyalty sacred remained to me . . . until Lucan's tame puss I became."

He raised his scarred muzzle and empty eye to the barren darkness overhead and gave a terrible cry that raised the hackles on the back of Travis's neck and sent his hand groping for a weapon--any weapon--in response to that feral howl.

As that inhuman cry faded into the night, in the terrible silence Cub-Killer stared at Travis for a long empty time.  "But no more, no more. Cheating and dishonor believed this one survival would buy. Now betrayed have I one who crewed with my clanblood, carrying their scent markings on her still."  
  
He turned to Travis with an intense expression, "Chandra Captain in great danger is. To her rescue you must go."  
  
"To hell with that," Travis spat. "The ungrateful bitch has already assured me that she doesn't need any help.  Besides, I still need to find information on _Malbolgia_ , where Lucan keeps his 'guests'.  I've wasted enough time here."   
  
"Information give you I will, if bring her back you will, safe and sane."  
  
Travis hesitated for a long moment, before nodding his head in reluctant acquiescence, wondering what sort of trap he might be walking into.  "Wheredid you send her, Cub-Killer?"  
  
"To  _supernova_  dealers.  Cheapest price for cargo running was Chandra's ship. With diluted version of drug was she supposed to be tested before trusting her with the shipment.  Betrayed me Lucan did . . . now from my folly you must save her."  
  
"Why me? Why not Restal or his fast gun girl friend?"  
  
"You only one strong enough, only one male enough if  undiluted drug they have given her."

Travis nearly shook his head in denial once more, but something about Cub-Killer's expression finally convinced him.

"All right, I'll try.  But if she turns on me again, I'll take it out of your hide."

 

VIII

  
Free Trader First Captain Mikhail Stannis sat in his darkened suite, alone and brooding over events of the past twelve hours.  He made no efforts to turn on the lights or activate any of the many entertainments available to him as Governor Lucan's guest.  Running his hands through his thick white hair, for a moment he considered activating the suicide trigger that Brendan had programmed in the event that Lucan attempted to take over his mind or body.  The main thing preventing him from using the device was the simple fact that its effects were extremely localized, only affecting him.   
  
 _I knew I should have had a solium bomb implanted in my chest_  he thought to himself, not quite trusting Travis's skills at disabling all the listening devices and spy cams likely planted in their suite.  At least that would have been one sure means of obliterating the cess pit that was  _La Terre de la Nuit San Fin_  along with its contemptible ruler.  
  
Taking a deep breath and gusting it out in an effort to expel any further trace of the nauseating incense and drug-laden vapors that had been circulating through Lucan's "office", Mikhail pushed himself out of the chair and headed for the fresher unit.  Stripping quickly to the skin, he shoved his best one-piece into the flash disposer unit to be incinerated, certain that nothing short of an acid bath would convince him that the corruption that surrounded Lucan had not somehow permeated the suit's fibers.

Turning the fresher's shower mode to the hottest temperature that he could endure, Stannis plunged into the steaming water in a desperate effort to scrub the stink of this morning's meeting off his skin and out of his mind.  Unfortunately the isolation of the shower only intensified his memories of the interview and the governor's ruthlessness.

Lucan's obscene pleasure in his masquerade as Vontard, along with the savagery he had demonstrated when brutalizing the poor data clerk had put Mikhail on his guard -- for all the good it had done. There had been no chance for him to resist limbic implants in that sensory restriction helmet and as a result, he'd been off-balance and barely able to function after the guards delivered him to Jason's cell. 

Fortunately the boy had inherited enough of Travis's stubborn resilience that the beatings and deprivation he had undergone had done little to break his will.  Still, Mikhail hated to manhandle the boy as he had, but that seemed the only way to focus Jason's attention on the message he was attempting to pass along, praying that despite his discontent with his classes, that the boy had been smart enough to retain some of his nonverbal language training.   
  
The trip to Lucan's office suite had proved much more satisfactory . . . and beneficial to their plans.  
  
As soon as the guards had locked the door to Jason's cell, Mikhail had attempted to grab the helmet out of the guard's grasp,  
"Give it to me," he'd panted wildly " **Now**  . . . I want them back . . . the images . . . the women . . .  the rapture."  Spittle trickled from his chin as he grappled with the guard.  
  
"What'd I tell you?" the second guard sneered. "Hooked already.  He'll be on his knees, ready to polish the Guv'ner's boots with his tongue by the time we deliver him.  Especially if we don't let him have what he needs right now.  Keep the helmet off  
. . . or better yet yank out the limbic circuits."  
  
"I dunno, Jake" the first guard muttered doubtfully. "We got our orders.  And they said the old man was smart . . . and dangerous."

"Does he look 'dangerous' to you, Spar?" the other guard asked in exasperation, while Mikhail did his best to convince them that he was a gibbering idiot, groping for the helmet like it was a water skin in the middle of the Nevyan desert.

"Maybe not, Jake.  But orders is orders . . . and I'd just as soon not get on the Guv'ner's bad side."  He turned to Mikhail, a weary look of disgust on his face as he held out the helmet for Mikhail to put on. "Come on, old man, break time's over.  Let's put that headgear in place, then get a move on. Guv'ner's expecting you and we don't want to keep him waiting."

Mikhail clutched the helmet avidly, caressing it with an abject fervor that disguised his desperate manipulation of the input leads. He had to disable them without setting off his guards's suspicions or frying his few working brain cells.  With no time remaining, he settled for pressing the leads flat against the inside surface of the helmet, hoping that would be sufficient to prevent them from stimulating the pleasure centers of his brain.

As he pulled on the helmet, his jaw clenched in dread, but to his relief, the deluge of pleasurable sensations did not follow. Instead, there was a low-frequency buzz that left him feeling irritable and out of sorts but did not interfere with his concentration.  With a sigh of relief, that he hoped his guards mistook for a gasp of ecstasy, Mikhail began focusing his long-neglected mapping skills in an effort to retrace the journey from Jason's cell in his head.

He also kept a wary ear out for his guards' conversation, hoping they might inadvertently give away information about passwords, procedures or other aspects of Lucan's security set-up.  Though one of the detail was a mindless babbler about his sexual conquests, odds on the latest drone duels, and where certain drugs might be scored when they were off-shift, Mikhail did manage to overhear and memorize the multisyllable password that activated the lifts from Jason's cell.  The second guard remained silent except for a non-committal grunt or two, as he heedlessly guided Mikhail through the underground corridors.

Neither guard seemed particularly interested in Mikhail's well-being en route to Lucan's office, which left the First Captain in a quandary.  Should he try to protect himself from minor collisions with walls and pedestrians or keep up his pretext of being transfixed by the helmet's hallucinatory images?  After narrowly escaping a headlong tumble down a moving stairway with no help from his 'bodyguards', Mikhail decided that if he hoped to be of any use at all during Jason's escape that he'd have to engage in a certain degree of self-preservation.

Still, despite his efforts to avoid crippling injuries, Stannis was more than a little bruised and battered by the time he arrived at the Governor's luxuriously appointed suite of offices.  Blinded and half-deafened by the helmet, Mikhail could hear the shrill objections of a human gatekeeper as Lucan's guards pushed him past her desk and through the heavy doors into the Governor's private abode.

A cloud of pungent incense nearly choked Stannis, out of breath as he already was from being shoved through the crowded corridors of the underground colony.  Musicians halted in mid-note at the sudden interruption then struggled raggedly to resume their sensuous strains as Mikhail tumbled onto a writhing, sweating mass of naked flesh.  There were squeals and curses as he struggled to his feet and despite his intended pretext of being under the helmet's control, he angrily yanked it off in a desperate effort to regain his composure.

Red-faced and gasping, he glared down at the group of entangled bodies that he'd just stumbled into, wondering which one was Lucan.  But to his surprise, a tall, handsome man, wearing a subtly tailored one piece suit, stood up from the leather couch where he'd been lounging, a drink in one hand and a mildly amused expression on his face.  Behind him, his executive assistant Vontard fidgeted, clearly uncomfortable in this setting.  
  
"Won't you have a seat, First Captain? Or would you rather amuse yourself with some of my 'toys' first?  They're trained in all the latest sensual and masochistic techniques.  Or I can send out for something a little more exotic, if this is not to your taste."

In addition to sweat and the musky scent of sex, there was a copperish tang of blood in the air along with the very distinctive smell of fear.  Mikhail stared down at the entwined bodies, frozen in erotic tableau, sweat mingling with droplets of blood from slashes along arms, legs and torsos.  Worst of all were the faces, filled with fear, self-loathing and abject submission to the slightest whim of the man that Stannis was confronting.

Swallowing back the nausea that filled the back of his throat, Mikhail attempted to regain some semblance of control.  It was bad enough having to negotiate with this aspiring criminal kingpin, but having to do so stripped of his usual dignity and reserve left Mikhail trembling with outrage.  He took a deep ragged breath and hoped that Lucan mistook his righteous anger for weakness or even lust.

"I think not, Governor." His voice was a hoarse whisper, but soon regained its usual forceful strength. "I've wasted enough time here already.  Just name your price and I'll have the funds transferred to whatever bank or financial agency that you designate.  Or deliver it in currency, bouillon, or high energy isotopes."

"That's very generous of you, First Captain.  But I'm afraid you totally misunderstood my message.  As the governor of  _La Terre de la Nuit San Fin,_  I'm tired of being treated as an outlaw and outcast.  The corporation of which I am the sole owner, board of directors and CEO owns this world and everyone on it, body and soul.  They may go about living their squalid little lives until I decide otherwise and sweep them up to use as combat drones, sex slaves or merely meat to feed the rest of the colony.  But this asteroid is so small, with such limited potential and I have much bigger dreams.  I want to establish regular trade relations with my neighbors: bring in tourists to fill the casinos and entertainment venues _,_  attract new workers and entertainers, and export various goods and services. Surely you can't fault me for that, First Captain?"

 _Drugs, slaves and hired killers_ Stannis thought to himself, but did not permit his anger and disgust to show.  Too much was at stake.  He shrugged, trying to conceal his growing outrage,

"I'm afraid that I can't help you, Governor. The Stannis Clan is only a small part of the Enclave and most of our pilots are already committed to long-term contracts."

"Surely a man of your power and influence can find a way around such minor inconveniences as contracts in order to become a part of my much more profitable operation."

"A 'man of my power and influence' requires certain inducements if you expect me to look favorably on your offers in the negotiations. What's your offer?"

"I so detest dickering for what we know that you are going to give me anyway, so I've had the contract drawn up."

Lucan rose gracefully from the couch and strode over to his desk and pressed a button that activated small screen.  Stannis leaned forward to read the governor's terms and struggled very hard to control his outrage.  The contract was nothing less that the outright hijacking of the Stannis Fleet, placing it under the control of Lucan and his cohorts in perpetuity.   
  
<>Stannis clenched his fists, his face flushed with fury, but managed to speak in a reasonable tone of voice, "And if I sign this  
 . . . this . . .  obscenity, turning over our entire fleet to the control of you and your cronies, my nephew Jason will be released and given safe passage off this planet."  
  
"Eventually, First Captain. We'll have see the ships delivered in optimum condition, first. Which will require a certain number of modifications in their weaponry and cargo facilities . . . at your expense, of course . . . before they are delivered.  Then we'll have to inspect them first and make sure that they fulfill our requirements.  Then, we'll discuss your nephew's release."   
  
<>Stannis closed his eyes, feeling the pulse that throbbed in his temples and seriously doubted that he would leave this room alive. The temptation to lunge across the desk and throttle Lucan with his bare hands was intensifying by the second.  Then he glanced over at Vontard, seeing the amused leonine glimmer flash out of his eyes for just a moment.  With a cold chill in the pit of his stomach, he realized that he had no idea how many of the men - - and even the women - - had the necessary implants to house Lucan's consciousness.  Even if he managed to wring the Governor's head off his neck, a likely option considering his current state of mind, there was no guarantee that he would actually extinguish that slimy consciousness.  
  
He took a deep shuddering breath, feeling his blood pressure drop and his hands unclench. "You'll forgive me, if I don't make a decision of this magnitude that affects so many lives of friends and family on the spur of the moment.  I need to consider my options . . .  and communicate with my fellow captains."

"The latter won't be possible," Lucan shrugged coldly. "Without its own fleet of ships, this world is much too vulnerable to an attack from space.  Besides, you are the First Captain and they obey your orders, do they not?"

"In a very self-reliant and independent minded way," Stannis answered sarcastically.  "There's no guarantee that they will strip themselves of their livelihood in order to save a boy that they hardly know."

For a moment, Lucan seemed disconcerted, almost uncertain, then the oily smoothness returned.  "Whatever, if they won't turn over their ships to save the boy, then perhaps they'll consider it a fair ransom for your release, First Captain?"  
  
"Take me hostage and you'll have no one to negotiate with.  The rest of the Stannis captains will spend the next half year wrangling and arguing about who should take my place, then likely blow this slime pit into space dust out of just to avoid the aggravation.  I'm the only one who has any chance at all of getting you what you want, but only if you guarantee the safe release of my nephew Jason."  
  
Lucan stared at Stannis with a grudging admiration on his face, "You're smarter than you look, old man.  Stalemate . . . for now.  But you will sign over those ships to me, unless you want to watch your nephew fed to the rats on the next reality vidcast."

"I don't have the power or authority to command that any Stannis captain surrender his ship," Mikhail said with careful deliberation.  "However, I can surrender the ten ships that belong to my immediate family, along with the three in the keeping of Jason's parents. That will give you a large enough trading fleet for this limited population.  Besides, I doubt that you have enough skilled pilots and crew to operate them."

"Crews are cheap, ships expensive," Lucan answered shortly.  Then paced deliberately over to the sweating musicians and the group of naked sexual drones that had been waiting patiently for his orders to resume their orgy, return to their kennels, or cut their own throats.

<>"Leave," he ordered casually, "I've had enough of your clownish antics for one day."  He turned to Vontard,  "You too. You've outstayed your welcome."  
  
Moments later the luxurious office once more resembled a place of business and Lucan seated himself primly behind his oversized desk. "I'll have a new contract drawn up by tomorrow, with a complete list and description of the ships that you are offering me in exchange for your nephew's life."

"And freedom," Mikhail added harshly.

"And freedom," Lucan agreed with an amiable smile. "And you will give my Executive Assistant that list of ships and their specifications before you leave, won't you?"

Mikhail slumped looking and feeling his age for the first time since they'd begun this operation. "I'll have it sent over later this afternoon, if you don't mind.  At the moment, I could barely recall the names of my own family, much less the design specifications of their ships."

"Very well," Lucan put his hands together, fingers fanned.  "You have had a bit of excitement this morning, haven't you?  Would you like my physician to attend you?  Or a herbalist?  There are two very good masseuses that I use regularly, with boneless fingers.  Their touch is sensuous beyond belief."  
  
"I'd just like to return to my room and rest," Mikhail replied.

"Very well, as long as you leave a drop of your blood on file."

"A drop of my blood?" Stannis was surprised by this demand.  
  
"To prove that you are the real Mikhail Stannis, of course and to rule out the possible influence of drugs.  People are so suspicious these days."  Lucan's feral golden eyes glittered in amusement and it was all Stannis could do not to leap across the desk and throttle the man.   
  
"Anything you say, Governor. You're giving the orders."  
  
The very memory of his weary compliance upon leaving Lucan's office caused bile to fill back of Stannis's throat, but he refused to yield to the overwhelming desire to spew up everything that he had consumed for the last two days.  There was no time to give into that kind of foolish weakness.  He clenched his fists in frustration, wishing he had Lucan's neck in his grip then took a deep calming breath.  No matter how humiliating, the entire fiasco had been worth the experience now he had a reasonable idea of Jason's location.  His knowledge, combined with Travis's infiltration skills would locate the boy and break him out of the cell.  Switching to icy needle jets, he shivered as the water pounded against his overheated body, regaining his composure and eagerly awaiting for Travis's return.

IX 

 

 

Travis stalked with feral stealth through the darkness, every sense on the alert.  This far away from the docks there was little semblance of civilization.  Lucan's hired thugs had no interest in enforcing their boss's orders in this sector, unless they turned out in force and in full riot gear.  The only rules here were those of the jungle, "kill or be killed" and "the strong feed on the weak".  Travis was tough and well-armed enough that he doubted anyone would deliberately mistake him for prey.  However, he was well-aware of the crazed state of mind produced by some of the current recreational drugs and had no desire to cross paths with anyone coming down from the devil's cocktail of chemicals that many desperate addicts were reduced to when their funds ran low.

" _Supernova_ ," he muttered angrily to himself.

Why the hell would Chandra want to get involved with drug-running on that scale?   _Nova_  had achieved a marginal acceptance in non-criminal circles, mainly because of its properties of promoting alertness and hyper-vigilance on long duty watches, during battles or even natural disasters.  It was a handy enough drug as long as the user wasn't required to make decisions requiring the critical functions of the brain.   _Nova_  users operated purely on instinct and Travis hated to even imagine what the effects of  _supernova_  might be.

"Damn that woman," he thought to himself, too wary to even whisper now in the shadowy alleyways as he looked around for the landmarks that Cub-Killer had described to him.  Glancing around, Travis spotted a seedy hole in the wall chopshop with hanging carcasses so green and rank, it was all he could do to swallow back his rising gorge.  One  door down was where the rendezvous was supposed to be.  
  
The area was dark and dingy, with none of the usual glittering lights or loud music to draw customers into a bar.  Travis glanced around for an entrance to the spacer's dive where Chandra was supposed to meet Cub-Killer's contacts.  Moments later, he identified the paint-splattered name -  _Oasis_  - that he was hunting off to one side on a graffiti scarred wall and strode impatiently over to it.   
  
There was a battered wooden door in the wall and as Travis touched it, he felt the throbbing vibration of an overloaded sound system.  Yanking it open, he stepped into the club's interior, wincing as the ambient sound increased almost enough to deafen him . . . likely to keep Lucan from eavesdropping on the amount of off-the-books business this place did.  The room was mostly dark, its atmosphere choking with smoky haze from the incense burners on the few battered tables.  Most of the light came from an unbreakable halon strip near one end of the bar, where a sober and watchful bartender/dealer stood guard over his stash.  
  
Travis started to saunter over, only to be stopped by the oversized arm of the drug den's gatekeeper.  The man towered over Travis's lean 6' 3" by at least four inches and outweighed him by fifty kilos.   But it wasn't the gargantuan mass of the man that left Travis with a cold knot in the pit of his stomach, but the fact that even in the bar's dim interior, his pupils were constricted to pinpoints.  Which likely meant that he was loaded to the gills with _slammer_ , a speed and strength enhancer that left him virtually impervious to pain.

Getting out might be a lot harder than getting in.

<>The watchdog growled at Travis, "What's your poison, One-Eye?" leaving Travis in a quandary.  All he wanted to do was locate Chandra in this cess pit and persuade her to leave, or else knock her out and drag her away.  He had to avoid anything that might slow him down but any of the stimulants would blow his already uncertain temper to hell and gone.  There had to be something he could ask for that wouldn't compromise his judgement any further.  
  
" _Turbo_ ," he muttered, hoping he could just palm the powerful sexual stimulant, without having to demonstrate its effectiveness.  
  
"Huh," the guard snorted. "We got something a hundred times better than that, bravo.   _Supernova_  . . . and you're just in time for the floor show.  See that little piece by the bar, talkin' to the two spacers.  Danny slipped a shot in her drink about ten minutes ago and she's just about primed to go off."  
  
"Whattya mean?" Travis demanded hoarsely, suddenly recognizing Chandra's flash leathers and flamboyantly streaked hair as the victim that the guard had pointed out.  
  
"In about another five minutes, she's going to be spread-eagled on that table, begging every man, woman, and dog in this joint to stick it to her.  Better than a gang-bang . . . cause she'll keep pleading for it, in every hole she's got . . . till the drug wears off  
. . . if it wears off."   
  
Travis stared in horror, seeing that Chandra's jacket was already open with one of the spacers groping her breasts.  Behind her, the second man had reached around and undone the front of her trousers and was struggling to pull them down as he thrust his semi-hardened cock against her ass, fumbling to take her from behind.  
  
A cold nausea settled into the pit of his stomach.  He was too late.  Chandra was as good as dead.  He'd seen what a company of troopers could do to a single woman, even a willing one.  Judging by her current actions, if he did try to rescue her, she'd fight him as hard as the rest of the men in this bar, watching eagerly as they lined up for their turn.  
  
He started to turn away and leave, when suddenly her eyes locked on his and he saw the desperation and fear in that gaze. Even though the drug might have affected the animal portion of her body, somewhere inside her mind the tough free trader captain was fighting desperately to regain control.  
  
Shoving the doorkeeper off balance with his cyberarm, Travis charged over to the coupling trio and pulled the man thrusting at Chandra's ass off of her. "Hey, wait your turn.  There's enough to go 'round.  Even better after they're juicy . . ."  
  
Travis slammed his left fist into the man's jaw, leaving it askew, then smashed the other man in the center of his face, causing him to reel back with his nose spouting blood.  
  
Chandra grabbed him by the shoulders and gave him such a passionate kiss, that for a moment, he forgot where and who he was and pulled her tightly to him.  Only when he felt her hips writhing against his and heard  her hoarse voice gasping, "Take me here . . . and now, dammit.  Show them how a real man does it." did he regain some semblance of control.  
  
He almost punched her in the jaw to silence her, but instead heaved her over one shoulder and headed for the door. "I'm shy, Captain . . . prefer not to have an audience."  
  
The doorkeeper had staggered to his feet and was growling, "Cub-killer sent her, you cyber-brained spacer, and the Guv'ner passed the word down.  Anyone working for him is fair game now . . . so she's tonight's entertainment."   
  
Travis pulled out the blaster he had hidden under his jacket and pressed it against the forehead of the bodyguard. "I don't give a damn about what Lucan said . . . and do I have to blow a hole in your ugly face to make my point?"  
  
"Oh, c'mon, Bull. To hell with Cub-killer . . .  just bring 'em on, I'll screw everyone here."  She writhed in Travis's grip. "And you, I'll do twice."

"Shut up, meat. You got no say at all . .keep your mouth shut unless you got a dick in it."

As Chandra subsided, Bull turned his ire on Travis. "Okay, One-Eye, it's your funeral, if you want her that badly.  But you better cut her throat and yours once you're done . . . cause the Governor's enforcers will kill you by inches."

Travis 's face held a cold killing expression, "Don't follow us, not out of this bar . . . nor anywhere else.  If I spot any unfriendly faces for the rest of my stay on this little garden spot, I'll blast a hole in them, no questions asked."

Backing slowly out the door, Travis gripped Chandra so hard that she could barely catch her breath.  He staggered down the dark alleyway for almost fifty yards before pausing to put his weapon back inside his shirt and see if Chandra could walk.  As he let her slide off his shoulder, she slumped against the wall, wiping the sweat from her face as she stared at him with a desperate heated gaze.  
  
"We're in the clear, One-Eye.  C'mon, this oughta be private enough for you.  Against the wall . . .  you slamming into me with everything you've got."

"Don't be any more stupid than you already are, Captain.  This area of the docks is a death trap . . . and worse . . .  for both of us."   He looked over her disheveled appearance.  "Fasten your trousers and close that jacket.  You're a magnet for every hot-eyed bravo out there."

<>Wiping the sweat from her face and neck, Chandra slowly complied with his orders, her dark eyes raking over his lean muscular body. "Why did you stop them, One-Eye?  Why not get in line and join the fun?"  
  
"Cub-Killer sent me," he answered shortly.  "Lucan betrayed him . . so he picked me to get you out of this mess you got yourself into.  Now, shut up, while I scout ahead and see if I can get us out of this death trap alive."  
  
Carefully they crept through the darkened streets, dodging over drunken and drugged bodies sleeping it off in noisome corners.  Travis paused at frequent intervals to make sure that they weren't being followed, but the crowd at the  _Oasis_  must have co-opted other entertainment and for the moment, they seemed to be in the clear.

Pausing again to check if they were being followed, Travis took a close look at Chandra, hoping that she had regained enough self-control so that he wouldn't have to stand watch over her for the rest of the night.  As soon as Cub-Killer gave him Jason's location, he'd have to get the boy free before word of  this little escapade circulated much further.

<>This time, she was leaning against the wall shivering, her arms wrapped tightly around her body.   _Going into shock_   Travis thought to himself.  _Or else coming down from the drug_  .   He hoped it was the latter.   He didn't have time to nursemaid some witless independent who through her own greed and stupidity almost wound up guest of honor at a gang-bang.    
  
Travis heard her teeth chatter as she muttered to herself,  "Can't believe I let that scumbag and filthy pal of his even touch me."  There were sounds of gagging behind him and Travis stepped away to make sure he wasn't splattered.

 _Good,_  he thought,  _get it out of her system that much sooner._

<>Still, as they crept through the alleyways and sidestreets, he sensed Chandra behind him with an almost animal-like intensity.  Something about her drew him like a magnet.  It wasn't just that her body still radiated an unnatural heat or the pungent musky smell that clung to her, affecting the primitive animal part of his own brain that urged him to turn around and clutch the receptive female to him, mounting her like a stallion covering a mare.  It went much deeper than that . . . almost a mental connection, like that he shared with Jenna.  He shook his head, trying to banish that disturbing thought.  
  
Jenna was safe and sound, half the galaxy away from this nightmare world.   
  
Wasn't she?  
  
With a shiver of recognition, he realized that they were on the same street as the  _Redoubt,_  where he could turn Chandra over to Cub-Killer and retrieve the promised information about Jason's whereabouts.  
  
But as she saw where he was heading, she clutched his arm desperately.  
  
"Not there, not now or I'll cut his throat for sure . . . and I need the information he owes me.  I have a room, not far from here.  Take me there till the drug wears off. Vil . . . the Amagon will watch out for me . . . make sure nothing happens."   
  
"I found out who was hiding under that 'tent' before I left the  _Redoubt_.  Vila Restal, thief, coward and pickpocket.  You think you can trust him, vulnerable as you are right now ?"  
  
"Course I can" Chandra jittered, half-giggling, half-sobbing. "Old frien' of mine, outlaws and renegades together . . . trust him with my life."  
  
Travis had his doubts, but followed her directions to the dilapidated quarters, even knocking on the door of the sour-faced slattern to pay her ten credits for use of the "facilities."  
  
"Cold shower," Chandra said, her teeth chattering.  "Just what I need.  Ice-cold needle jet shower."

As they unlocked the door to the sparse quarters, it appeared empty and to Chandra's dismay, her disguised roommate was absent.

<>"Noo," she groaned to herself. "Where can he be? Can't stay here alone . . . not like this."  She slumped on the bed, wrapping her arms tightly around herself.  "Where is he? Where isss he?"  Mumbling over and over to herself until the words were so slurred together that Travis could hardly understand her.  
  
"Probably still at the  _Redoubt_ , cadging drinks, chatting up that blonde gunslinger," Travis muttered, trying to calm Chandra's growing hysteria.  
  
He holstered his blaster and turned to go, but Chandra launched herself from the bed and clutched at him. "Don't leave me alone," she begged breathlessly.  "Not like this."  She was still shivering and her teeth chattered as though she was half-frozen, despite the fact that her face was flushed, her lips swollen, and beads of sweat dripped down her forehead.  
  
"I can't stay here and babysit you while you're coming down," Travis snarled impatiently.  "I've got things to do.  People depending on me . . . my son is depending on me to get him out of Lucan's clutches . . . and I've already wasted enough time on other people's problems tonight."   
  
<>Chandra shook her head violently, as though she didn't hear a word he said.  "If you leave me like this," she gasped, "I'll be on the street five minutes later, screwing the first man or beast that I find."  
  
"That's not my problem," he turned his back harshly, trying to avoid her beseeching gaze. "You play with fire . . . drugs and drug-runners . . . you should expect to get burned."

"Don't leave," she pleaded, kneeling at his feet and wrapping her arms around his waist. " Stay here and have sex with me once  
 . . . just once.  I'll be able to fight the drug's effect off then, I know I will.  It won't take long, just a few minutes of your time."

<>Travis stared down into those midnight dark eyes, brimming over with tears of pleading.  
  
What would it hurt?  A quick tumble in the hay with this strong, proud woman.  No one would ever know.  It might actually restore her to some semblance of normal.  Besides, after that little display earlier and the musky scent that was pouring off her, he was aching for release.  
  
Then he recalled Jenna . . . and the reason that he was here.  A similar episode some years ago, when his mental defenses were down and he'd fallen victim to another woman's sexual allure for a similar 'one night stand'.  Jenna had never blamed him for that incident, but they were still dealing with the consequences of his loss of self-control.  Even if Jenna did forgive him for taking pleasure in the arms of another woman, he doubted that he could forgive himself.  
  
He shook his head and repeated in a low harsh voice, "I have a bondmate, Captain Chandra, who I love very much.  I've already broken my vows once . . . and I don't think our bonding would survive a second betrayal . . .  even in these circumstances." <>Chandra stared up at him, her dark eyes enigmatic.  But he could almost swear that a brief smug grin flashed across her lips, followed by an agonized groan.  
  
"Of all the stubborn, idiotic men . . . my usual timing.  I finally find Sir Galahad, when it's Jud the Stud that I need."  She took a deep shaky breath and dragged herself back over to the bed, as far away from Travis as the dimensions of the room allowed. "Will you just stay here. . please?  The effects are diminishing . . . I can almost think again.  Just few minutes longer. V. . .v  
. . .Vila should return soon."  
  
Travis glanced down at his chrono. 0600. One hour until dawn planetside, but  La Terre did not depend on a solar primary to determine its diurnal rhythms.  In fact, it was far more likely Lucan's security forces would be less vigilant in the early morning hours than at midnight.  Once Cub-Killer gave him the information he promised, he could break the boy out just as easily in the middle of the day as the dead of night.  Keeping Chandra out of trouble until the  _supernova_  wore off wouldn't take that much of his time.  Besides, it would put her in his debt and she might prove useful when they tried to get Jason offplanet.  
  
"All right, Captain of the  _Sabre_. I'll stay here for thirty minutes and not one second longer.  If your associate hasn't shown up by then, you're on your own.  And if you make any provocative moves in my direction, I'll slap you silly. Understand?"  
  
Chandra nodded shakily, and clasped a pillow tightly across her middle, muttering words and numbers under her breath. Travis eased himself over to the broken down couch at the other end of the room and sat there, cautiously alert, like a man seated across from a wild animal.

For the next ten minutes he waited, half- listening as Chandra muttered facts and figures to herself.  Paying closer attention, he realized that she was reciting cargo stats, import duties and restrictions, even engine specs and requirements -- filling her mind with facts and numbers as she tried to shake off the drug's effects.

He chuckled ruefully to himself, remembering many a time when he'd tried to fill his mind with Space Command's rules and regulations, trying to block out similar distractions when he and Jenna had first teamed up aboard the  _Reina del Sol._ Now there was a 'bold and bonny' little ship, an overpowered blockade runner that could carry just enough cargo to refuel her tanks and keep Jenna and him from starving to death.

Suddenly with a shock of recognition, he really listened to the stats that Chandra was reciting in almost mindless repetition.  
 ". . . _del Sol,_ engine fuel capacity, 11.76 kiloliters. Range, 2.3 parsecs, as long as don't hit any ion storms. Cargo specs, hold number 1- 1700 dekaliters liquid, 2000 kilos dry weight, guns for Avalon, 550 standard fire pulse rifles, 300 short range hand blasters.  Safe in the Captain's cabin, enough jewels and gold coin to buy a future."

<>Despite his resolve to stay away from her, Travis strode impatiently across the room and grabbed Chandra by the shoulders, staring intently down into her face. "When did you own that ship?" he demanded, shaking her so hard that her teeth clicked together.  "Or run guns to the rebel Avalon?"  
  
"You oughta know, hotshot. You were there."  
  
"Jenna?" Travis stared at her in disbelief, then felt the fear and anger surge up inside of him.  "What the hell are you doing here?  Trying to get yourself killed . . . or better still, gang-raped?"  It was all he could do to restrain himself from shaking her again, but he could tell by the flushed, sweaty look on her face that she was still suffering from the effects of  _supernova_.  
  
Taking a deep shuddering breath, he released her shoulders and took a deliberate stride away from her.  "Why didn't you tell me sooner?"  
  
Jenna slumped against the wall that the bed was shoved against and buried her face in her hands, "I didn't want to admit that I had failed . . . that I had no more clue as to where Jason is located that when Vila and I first hit the docks."  
  
"I wondered exactly what he was doing on this pesthole, in that disguise.  He doesn't strike me as someone who would have volunteered to help you bust Jason out of Lucan's clutches."  
  
"Normally, not," she agreed.  "But I think he is carrying a torch for Dani.  He was visiting her when I asked her to help me with Chandra's identity papers . . .  and this disguise.  And she intimidated him into volunteering to come along."  
  
"Will wonders never cease?" he shook his head in disbelief, then turned his attention to Jenna, who was running a small handheld device over her eyes, cheekbones and chin.  "What the hell is that?"   
  
"A vast improvement over that holographic imager that you and Avon came up with two years ago for your little excursion to Zircaster.  These implants hold up under close scrutiny, touch, and even inclement weather . . .  then dissolve when their field is demagnetized. "  
  
Travis watched as Chandra's dark eyes and high cheekbones were transformed into Jenna's more familiar features.  There was a long tense moment as they stared warily at one another then Travis lunged forward and clutched her in his arms, with a guttural moan, "Jenna. Jenna. Jenna."  
  
And he couldn't tell which of them was trembling the hardest.

 

X

  
In the  _Palace of Delights_  Mikhail Stannis was seething, wondering what hole that Federation turncoat Travis could have dropped into.  It was all very well for his niece's bondmate to go bar prowling to troll for information while Mikhail was attempting to make a deal with the criminal mastermind that ran this underground.  But he expected the man to be available when the time came to carry out their rescue mission . . . and he was nowhere to be found.  
  
Stannis had sketched out the route to Jason's cell in his head, then onto their 3-D grid as soon as he returned to their suite. Even though it meant taking a chance that all the spy cameras and listening devices that the Federation officer had double-looped or disabled had remained so.  It wasn't that he didn't trust his own memories, but he knew how risky this mission was and if anything happened to him and the map in his mind, Travis was back to square one . . . and he had sacrificed too much of his self-respect to take that chance.

He'd seen too much in the last couple of hours to think that Lucan was naive enough to believe that his Free Trader guests were sitting quietly in their luxurious suite, twiddling their thumbs and enjoying the tri-dee sex shows and hardcore violence available to them.   No, their time was running out and he had to act soon, even if Travis did not return.

<>He paced restlessly across the lush carpet, muttering angrily to himself while he tried to recall if Travis had mentioned any particular bar or watering hole as a source of intelligence.  Then after a few moments, he recalled a mention of  _Moriarity's Redoubt_  and its Kyrenian barkeep.  Travis implied that he'd established a rapport with the being . . . though he probably didn't actually know anything useful  
  
Well, at least that was a starting point . . . and if he didn't locate Travis, maybe the Kyrenian could tell him where to hire a few roughnecks to help break his grand-nephew out of this pestilential hellhole.

 

XI

  
Vila, and Soolin were seated, grimly waiting, at one of the back tables at the  _Redoubt,_ while Cub-Killer remained behind the bar _._ It was almost 0630 and in the aftermath of the earlier altercation, most of the bodies had been disposed of and bloodstains hastily scrubbed away.  Still decked out in his Amagon disguise, Vila stared glumly at the door but there was still no sign of Chandra and Travis.  
    
He heaved a deep hopeless sigh, knowing part of him should be relieved that Chandra/Jenna  had disappeared.  It definitely let him off the hook as far her plan to break Jason out of whatever dark cell Lucan was holding him in.  And he certainly wouldn't miss Travis either, with that permanent chip on his shoulder and all-around surly attitude.  Almost as bad as Avon.  
  
<>Muttering grimly to himself, "Well, that's another so-called friend that I won't be seeing anytime soon, trapped in this backwater cess pit of a world."  
  
He tried to look on the bright side of things.  At least there was no one to tell him not to drink anymore, or lie around all day dreaming of virgins in red fur . . . or even care whether he lived or died.

Soolin stared at him dispassionately, easily recognizing the slumped shoulders and disconsolate sighs as signs of  the despair that gripped him.  If she was smart, she would cut her losses . . . and the little thief's throat . . . rifle his pockets for whatever cash he had and find another potential partner.  But something about the hapless expression and soft brown eyes, now hidden under the burqua's veil, had wormed its way into the burned and blackened remnants of her heart.

He reminded her of a lop-eared stray that she and her brother had found long ago, abandoned on the outskirts of their farm.  He was utterly useless as a hunting dog, harried the yard fowl so they almost stopped laying and howled at the moon rather than warning them of the nighttime predators that menaced their farm.  Her father had threatened to drown the 'useless beast' time and again, but Soolin had always persuaded him to give the hound another chance.  
  
The raiders that killed her family and burned their farm to the ground had cut his throat and left him bleeding in the dust as they dragged her away.

Soolin's expression hardened as she determinedly banished the rest of those memories to the back of her mind and turned her attention to survival.

<>"What about the ship you came in? What was it called -  _Sabre?_ You know where it was docked, don't you? All we need to do is find a pilot, take off and we've got free run of the galaxy."  
  
"What about documents and clearances, all that paperwork that Chandra had to fill out before they let her dock?" <>"Did she leave any of it in the room where you were staying?"  
  
"I doubt it. She didn't have much confidence in its locks.  Not that I blame her, a harsh look would have . . ."  
  
"Never mind, Vila," Soolin shrugged off his professional lockpick's observation. "It doesn't matter. In a sleazy backwater like  _La Terre,_ most documents are faked anyway.  All we need to do is find someone to forge the proper papers, hire a pilot we can trust, and we'll put this place parsecs behind us.  No problem."  
  
Vila slouched further down in his seat, "I just wish I could be sure it would be that simple." He glanced up at the broad-shouldered, silver-haired spacer who had just stalked through the  _Redoubt's_  doors and recoiled, muttering, "Oh no, what's he doing here?"  
  
"What's wrong, Vila?" Soolin's clear blue eyes narrowed as she rested her hand on her holstered weapon. "More trouble?"  
  
"In spades," he groaned. "That's Jenna's uncle, First Captain of the Stannis Fleet.  The last person in the world I'd want to see here."  
  
"Who's Jenna?" Soolin demanded, somewhat confused. "I thought it was Chandra that you were working with?  The one supposedly headed for trouble that Cub-Killer sent that one-eyed hardcase after?"  
  
Vila massaged his aching head, trying to sort things out enough to explain their deception to Soolin without rehashing the last five years of galactic history.  
  
"Jenna is Chandra . . . I mean she's disguised as Chandra, hiding her identity so she could locate her son Jason Stannis and get him out of Lucan's clutches."  
  
"Jason . . . isn't that the boy that One-eye said he was looking for?" <>"The same. Travis is Jenna's bondmate and the boy's father."  
  
"And he doesn't know that she's here, in disguise, looking for the boy too?  Are they insane, splitting their efforts like that?"  
  
"They're not crazy," Vila shrugged wearily. "Just stubborn and hard-headed about doing things their own way.  Jenna came here in disguise because her uncle . . . that man at the bar . . . grounded her ships, so she wouldn't attempt to rescue the boy on her own and interfere with his negotiations."

"The First Captain of the Stannis Fleet believes he can negotiate with Lucan and not lose everything that he owns . . . and his soul as well?   Is the man really that naive?"

"I dunno," Vila shrugged and started to gather up his draperies and make his way as gracefully as possible to where Stannis and Cub-Killer seemed to be engaged in a glaring contest.

"Travis hasn't come back yet," he muttered grimly. "Jenna's uncle may be her last chance for getting out of whatever mess Cub-Killer got her into."  
  
"Very well," Soolin agreed reluctantly. "But don't blame me if they both bite your head off."   
  
Attempting to mimic a graceful female glide, Vila stumbled badly as he nervously approached the First Captain.  Deeply engrossed in a heated exchange of growls and hisses, Stannis ignored Vila until he tapped his shoulder firmly.  Then the Captain switched mental gears and addressed him in fluent Amagon, " _Sabah al-khair_."  
  
Vila cleared his throat and tried to answer in a high-pitched voice, "I'm afraid I don't speak that dialect,  _sahib_.  But I've come to warn you that someone close to you is in terrible danger."  
  
Stannis turned his sharp gaze on Vila,  "I thought I recognized that ratlike scurry, Restal.  What are you doing here?"  
  
"Trying to find Jason. Like everyone else." Vila groaned in frustration, as he babbled.  "Why don't people believe that I'm just a quiet, peaceful, law-abiding citizen?  It wasn't my idea to infiltrate the slime pit of the galaxy.  I just visiting an old friend, when Jenna turned up, asking for Dani's help on her disguise and putting the finishing touches on her fake ID as Captain Chandra of the  _Sabre._ They browbeat me into coming along to have my break-in skills as a back-up in case her first plan didn't work."  
  
"Jenna's  **here**  . . . in disguise?  Where is she now?  What was she planning?"

"I dunno," Vila shrugged. "Jenna always played her cards close to the vest.  I have no idea how she intended to find Jason, much less bust him out."

"Chandra, captain of the  _Sabre,_  her disguise was," Cub-Killer's voice was a low shivering growl.  "Running a cargo of  _supernova_  to the Rim she promised . . .  in exchange for information of your nephew's location."

Stannis smashed an oversized fist on the bar, glaring at Cub-Killer once more. "You ragged-eared misfit!  You sent her to deal with drug runners . . . and now she's gone missing too."  
  
Cub-Killer had pulled out his three-pronged claw, brandishing it in Stannis's face, "Lied to me she did, pretending eagerness to buy Enclave favor, not save her own flesh and blood.  So eager was I to rid myself of Spalden liar and thief that I did not smell her fear.  Fool I was not to realize that goddess daughter of M'reeth Goldeneye would risk anything her own cub to rescue."  
  
"You foul the name of M'reeth Goldeneye by speaking it, outcast and dishonored one, Cub-Killer."  The epithet had a particular virulence on the First Captain's tongue and the two beings glared at one another as they continued their venomous exchange.  
  
Cub-Killer's fur roached up along his back as he hissed angrily, "Times different were, life and death choices also.  Rules of survival changed."  He stared at Stannis, his eye dark and despairing. "Too old was I to recognize how necessary change was.  What excuse have you, First Captain, to blind yourself to niece's heart ties?  Not the first time that she has defied you, is it?"  
  
Mikhail stared at the Kyrenian with a cold dread filling his heart, wondering just how much his niece might have confided in this outcast's ear.  And how much Cub-Killer had passed on to Lucan's agents?   It was going to be difficult enough to rescue one hostage, especially with Travis missing.  If Jenna had fallen into Lucan's clutches, he wasn't sure what chance he had of getting any of them off this asteroid.  Slumping against the bar, he buried his face in his hands.  
  
"I hoped I might be able to stop her this time from charging off on some ill-conceived and totally insane rescue mission."  
  
"Too bad you don't learn from experience, Uncle, considering the luck you've had in the past trying to stop me?"  
  
Everyone froze at that familiar voice, then Stannis stared in momentary disbelief at the two leather-clad figures that had just entered the  _Redoubt_. The implants, rings and studs, even the crystalline star maps twining up her arms were gone and her eyes were their normal hazel color, but it would take time or the services of a gifted colorist to return her hair to its sunlit gold.  Vila also noticed that despite being reunited with Jenna that Travis still retained his dour expression.  
  
"Forget the chitchat," Travis glared at Jenna, before turning his baleful gaze to Cub-Killer. "What about it, Kyrenian? We paid your price . . . in spades.  Now tell us where Jason is."  
  
"Malbolgia, level 48, cell 16.  No more than that do I  know.  Passwords  and  break-out, you  must do."    
  
Stannis's expression was carved in stone and he glared intently at Cub-Killer before placing the tri-D map on the table. "That gives us enough data.  Put together with what I learned today, we should be able to locate his cell and break him out."  
  
Cub-Killer glanced around at the empty bar then went over to close and lock the doors. "Secure the  _Redoubt_  is from any of Lucan's spy devices.  Speak freely, then go quickly.  This surveillance blind spot Lucan may eliminate soon."   
  
Despite his doubts about the Kyrenian's loyalties, Stannis quickly sketched out the directions to Jason's cell as he had plotted them in his head.  He glanced over at Vila who was reluctantly divesting himself of the concealing veils of the Amagon  burqua.

"Recruiting Restal seems to have been a tolerable strategy for executing Jason's escape.  Too bad your information gathering methods came up short."

Jenna's cheeks flamed a bright red but before she could respond, Travis gripped her shoulders firmly, murmured something into her ear and she subsided.  Assuming his niece's silence signified her acceptance of his leadership for the actual rescue, Stannis   
sketched out his plans for getting down to the cells where Jason was located and managing his escape.

"After we escort Jenna back to our ship, Travis, Vila and I will follow the map down to Jason's cell.  Once Vila opens the lock, we'll sneak Jason back to the ship, disguised in the burqua."

Travis stared at Stannis impassively before interrupting in a dead flat tone, "You're still underestimating Jenna's mettle, First Captain.  Though she 'persuaded' Vila to come with her, she had a back-up plan if his skills weren't sufficient, smuggling in more than a kilo of WX429."

Stannis stared at her in disbelief, "How the hell did you manage that?  Customs' chemical detection units are so sensitive, I couldn't sneak in anything more powerful than a harsh sneeze."

Jenna shrugged, scratching at her upper arm somewhat absent-mindedly,  "I bribed the agent not to inspect my cargo too closely."  
    
"But that would have guaranteed . . ." <>  
  
She nodded with a smug grin, "Yes, and while he was going through my cargo with a hand-held detector and finding the exotic incense and spices that I had carefully planted, he didn't give my implants a second look. By the time he came out, the detector's sensory cells were too overloaded to register anything. I batted my eyes and listened meekly to his tirade on customs regs, then paid a ten credit fine and walked onto the docks, wearing enough explosive to blow Lucan's  _Palace of Delights_  into a separate orbit."  
  
Vila went pale, staring a Jenna's bare tanned arms, "You mean I slept in the same room with that much explosives . . . and you didn't even warn me?" Jenna grinned bleakly, "I was worrying enough for both of us, Vila, and besides . . .  I didn't want to deprive you of your beauty sleep." Standing behind the thief, Soolin patted his shoulder reassuringly.  
  
"And what do you propose to do with all that explosive, Travis?  We won't need it to break Jason out of his cell as long as we have Vila's skills.  Besides, an explosion of that magnitude would set off every alarm in Lucan's palace and alert his entire legion of thugs, bodyguards, and hired killers to our presence."  
  
"Not if I set it off well away from where you and Vila will be carrying out your rescue mission.  I doubt that Lucan's given much thought to emergency planning or escape for anyone . . . except himself.  The explosion might alert the guards, but is more likely to cause confusion, mass hysteria, and assure that at least half his hired flunkies bolt."  
  
"Besides," Travis continued, with a feral gleam in his eye, "there's the little matter of payback, isn't there?  Considering what this Terra Nostra thug has put us through . . .  we need to discourage any similar schemes in the future."   
  
"What buildings . . . storehouses to blow-up, plan you?" Cub-Killer questioned.  
  
"I'm not sure," Travis answered in a harsh tone, gingerly patting the kilo of explosive in the satchel that hung over his shoulder. "I'll have to scout around and see what looks like it would cause the most distraction . . . without blasting this asteroid open to space."

"A wise decision that would be," Cub-Killer hissed in a sarcastic tone. "Good target, this one knows.  Many guards, but past them easily we can sneak on stealthy paws.  And many guards and flunkies will a fire and explosion there draw.  Perhaps even Lucan Governor, himself."

"And just what is in this building that everyone would be so interested in?"

"A warehouse full of supernova."

For a long moment, Travis stared at Cub-killer, the mistrust plain on his face, then he gave a short nod, "We'll do it."

Stannis erupted. "Have you lost your fragging mind?  After all the danger and aggravation that we've put up with to get this chance to rescue Jason, you intend to jeopardize it for some foolhardy chance of revenge?  Don't you ever learn, Travis?"

"I've seen the effects of this drug up close, Stannis and I'll do whatever I can to stop its manufacture and distribution . . .  in this sector, at least."

"Surely you're not naive enough to believe that blowing up one warehouse will stop it?  Chemical agents like  _supernova_  have existed for thousands of years.  If people want to withdraw from reality, alter their body chemistry, or simply blast their minds into oblivion, they have the right to do so.  We have no business imposing our moral values on them."

"I'm not interfering with anyone's freedom of choice, Stannis," Travis spat.  "Just trying to slow down spread of a drug that strips away its users' humanity . . .  from the very beginning."

A chill ran down Vila's spine at the ruthless expression on Travis's face.  It was a side of former Federation officer that he hadn't seen for some years now, ever since Travis and Jenna had  first teamed up.  The harsh grating voice reminded Vila all too vividly of the Federation officer's dogged pursuit of Blake and  _Liberator_.

Stannis felt a cold knot settle in the pit of his stomach.  He'd thought that he was being clever with his scheme to make use of Travis's former infiltration and battlefield skills.  But now he wondered if he might have resurrected the madman that Jenna and Travis himself had worked so hard to bury. 

As Stannis stared at Travis in dismay, he realized that despite his earlier outburst, the cool calculating Federation officer was back in control. "Jenna, you'll provide security for Vila and your uncle during Jason's escape . . ."

"But I want to go with you," she protested. "After what I went through, it's my right _."_

 _"_ It's too risky," Travis said in a matter-of-fact voice. "Even with the shower, I'm not sure that we got every trace of that explosive off your skin."  He ran his fingers caressingly down her arms.  "Even if it's supposed to be perfectly safe without the primer, I'd still prefer for you to be as far away as possible, through several well-shielded walls when I detonate it."

Jenna folded her arms across her chest as she nodded a reluctant agreement, "All right. I'll go along with your orders this time."  She stared into his face, her eyes bright with unshed tears, "But so help me, if you get yourself killed . . . or even any more parts blown off . . ."

"I know," he nodded in grim amusement at this frequently repeated threat. "You'll never let me hear the end of it. Just watch out for yourself, Stannis.  You've got the hard part, skulking though  _Malbolgia's_  halls and tunnels, without being stopped.  Not to mention convincing Jason to wear Vila's disguise back to the ship."

"If he doesn't want it," Vila piped, "I'll be more than glad to resume my secret identity."

Mikhail decided it was time to take control of the operation, "We'll rendezvous back at the ship by noon, with lift-off at 1300.  Anyone not present gets left behind."

Nodding in uneasy agreement, Jenna stared at Travis, knowing his operation was the most dangerous . . . and the most likely to result in delays.

Focused on Stannis's last-minute instructions, Travis felt more than heard Cub-Killer come up behind him.  To his surprise, the Kyrenian was wearing a tattered sash in the colors of the clan that he had once led before being outcast.  He also had an antique long-range energy weapon slung over one shoulder and a bandolier of energy magazines over the other.  Besides the cruelly hooked claw that he normally carried, there was a curved sword hanging from his belt.

<>Travis stared at him in disbelief, "I thought you were just going to show me the warehouse?  Not lead a bloody cavalry charge against it?"  
  
"Alone, no chance have you of warehouse blowing up. Cover will you need and fire support, while explosives you are planting."  
  
Travis started to vent his outrage and mistrust at the bartender, only to notice that Soolin was standing beside him wearing two blasters, rather than her usual one.  Besides the hand weapons, she also was packing an unusual amount of hostile hardware and stared at him with an unblinking blue gaze, a deep and fathomless as the sea.  
  
Realizing that they were running out of time, Travis threw up his hands in surrender, "Women and cats . . . Kyrenians . . . do as they please.  All right, you two.  Come with me if you want, but I'm not slowing down for any reason."    
  
Checking to make sure that he had the primer and fuses for the explosive, Travis started to leave, then turned back and pulled Jenna to him, kissing her with a desperate passion before turning away and striding into the harshly lit street.  
  
Jenna stared after him, dry-eyed and with a grim expression, before snapping "Let's get going. We don't have all day."

 

 

XII

  
With the departure of Travis and his motley escort, Vila noticed that the temperature in the  _Redoubt_  seemed to have dropped about 50 degrees.  As he struggled to fold the burqua into something that didn't resemble a tent, Jenna and her uncle checked over their weapons and maps, deliberately avoiding speaking to one another.

Despite his best efforts, the garmentrefused to be compressed into anything smaller than a poncho, with fastenings and strings hanging awkwardly from every corner.  Finally Jenna took pity on his struggles with the robe and through some ultra-secret method of matching corners and pleating edges, reduced the unwieldy fabric to a small neatly folded bundle the size of a tea towel, which Vila managed to stuff under his jacket, along with his basic break-in tools.

While he was struggling with the burqua, the First Captain finished making his final notations to the map projection of  _La Terre's_  office area and holding cells.  He gave Jenna's flamboyant outfit a withering glance then addressed Vila.  
  
"Perhaps you should suggest to my niece, Ser Restal, that she might consider changing into another set of clothes that won't attract the attention of every slaver, pimp or testosterone-charged male in this section of town."

Vila looked over at Jenna's outraged expression and muttered nervously under his breath, "Jenna, your uncle thinks you look a little . . . chilly . . . in that outfit and might want to put on something else?"

"Kindly inform my uncle, Vila, that there's the small matter of Travis's and my son to be rescued from this stinking pesthole.  And I hardly feel that this is the appropriate time to be discussing my wardrobe."

Vila had been in the path of plasma bolts with less throw power than Jenna's glare and decided that the best way to get out of the path of the sizzling scowls that the pair were hurling at one another was to keep his head down and his mouth shut.  After all, he had survived the worst glowers that Blake and Avon could manage between the two of them . . . and he was still upright and breathing.  He just hoped that this little escapade wouldn't change that.   
  
As they tried to move stealthily through the early morning crowds, Vila noticed that it was not so much Jenna or himself that attracted attention, but the First Captain.  The two of them could easily pass for denizens of  _La Terre_ : him as a labor drone either going or coming off shift and Jenna as a working girl headed for her daytime doss.  But Stannis in his casually expensive one-piece pilot's gear, his clean, well-manicured hands, and his inborn arrogance stood out like a lion in a herd of sheep.  
  
Vila hissed a warning to him, hoping that the man wouldn't take offense and knock his head off his shoulders, "First Captain, muss your hair a little and stick your hands in your pockets.  Try to look like you belong here . . . not like you're slumming."

Stannis gave him a look that would have frozen the balls off a brass monkey, then made a pretense of trying to look disheveled, which only made him stand out even more.

"Crikey," Vila muttered under his breath. "Jenna, shove your uncle against that wall and act like you're checking him out for a fat roll of credits.  I'll see if I can't commandeer a few items so he doesn't look like a walking mark."  
  
Jenna's glare actually outfroze her uncle's on the Kelvin scale but Vila had already ducked into one of the dingy shops off the alleyway, so she hissed at the First Captain as she tried to shove his muscular bulk against the wall, "Play along, Uncle and at least pretend like you're groping me.  Jason's life may depend on our acting skills."   
  
Stannis placed his hands on Jenna's shoulders somewhat gingerly, before muttering "Where the hell has that little spacerat ducked out to?  We don't have time to waste playing games."  
  
"He's trying to keep us alive and off Lucan's radar," Jenna muttered, groping under her uncle's arm, where he usually kept his money belt.  "Now, throw your arms around me, old man, and try to act like you're drunk."

But before Stannis could display his dramatic skills, Vila staggered out of the shop that he had ducked into only moments before with some kind of stuffed pastry that was oozing either blood, tomato sauce or a very crimson looking gravy all down the front of his tunic.  Before Stannis could protest, Vila had dropped one of the dripping atrocities into his hand, while stuffing half of the other into his own mouth, quickly followed by half of one of the two bottles of wine that he had tucked under his other arm.

"Eat up, old buddy," Vila mumbled, rolling his eyes as he dribbled most of the wine and the rest of the pastry onto his shirt, noting with approval that Stannis was wearing most of his "breakfast" and looking much less like someone's rich uncle and more like one of the denizens of  _La Terre_. "I always wanted to do that to some high class toff, y'know."

He gave Stannis one of his most artless smiles, seemingly oblivious to the outraged fury on the other man's face.

Jenna sniffed tentatively at the sauce dripping from Vila's fingers and her uncle's tunic front and barely avoided gagging at its pungent fetid aroma, "What the hell is that, Vila?"

"Dunno.  It was just listed as 'breakfast', no specification as to species."  Vila started to gulp down another swallow of the wine then sprayed the wall with it.  "Gaaaargh, this stuff is even worse than that shuttle fuel that passed for booze in Space City."

Wiping his mouth, Vila glanced furtively around to see if anyone was paying undue attention to his act and was grateful to see that the few people out and about in this sector were doing their best to ignore his little display.  
  
Grabbing Jenna by the arm, he ducked down a hallway, with Stannis following behind, dabbing at the darkening stain on the front of his tunic as he muttered what he planned to do to Vila once they were back on Sanctuary.

Despite Stannis's 3-D map of the route to Jason's cell, they still had difficulty locating Lucan's holding area,  _Malbolgia_. Jenna was fidgeting as her uncle stopped in a corner to re-orient the map display, trying to get them back on track.

"I know we're headed in the right direction," he muttered.  "I'm heard those reactor steam vents on the port side as they steered me toward the lifts.  Keep a sharp watch for any spyeyes, Jenna . . ."

"Already covered, Uncle," she replied.  "I activated the visual loop overlay as soon as we entered this sector.  Keep your eyes open, Vila, and let me know if you spot any other cameras or listening devices.  We have a universal jammer, but once that's activated, we might as well send up a flare letting them know we're here."

Stannis nodded absently as they finally located the lifts that took him down to Jason's cell.  Naturally, they required an activation key, but Vila was already bypassing the interlock with his usual skill and dexterity.  The door slid open at his command and the three of them quickly entered the car.  There was no control panel or other device that Vila's skillful digits could seduce into taking them to Jason's cell.  Instead there was only an audio receiver, silently awaiting the password that would allow them access to Jason's cell block.

Staring at the receiver, Stannis felt a cold knot in the pit of his stomach.  He'd memorized the password to the best of his ability, but the problem was that it had been a random group of syllables with unusual inflections.  While his sense of location and orientation was virtually flawless, his auditory recall was somewhat less so.  He licked his lips nervously and then spoke in a harsh tone,

"Fro- duc- PI- van - her- SUNG - bex - jal- QWA."

The lift remained motionless, while Stannis took a deep breath and repeated the phrases again, trying to remember the exact detail of the accents and inflections.

"Fro - duk - PI- van - her - SUN - bek - jal - QUA."  
  
The doors showed no sign of moving, causing Jenna to mutter, "Is it possible that they've changed the code phrases?"

"Just since yesterday?  I doubt it, Jenna. Consider that the combined IQ of my escort was probably less than my belt size, I doubt that they would be capable of memorizing a new password sequence every day."  He pressed his fingers to his temples and squinted in concentration, "Now, be quiet both of you, while I try to repeat the guard's exact pronunciation of those damned syllables."

He panted for a moment then spoke in a guttural tone, "Fro - duck - PIE - van - her - SUN - beck - jal - QUA."  
  
The door slid closed as the lift dropped silently toward the holding cells, throwing Jenna and Vila temporarily off balance.

"Good work, Uncle," Jenna quietly approved.  "I doubt I could have memorized those syllables and inflections that thoroughly."

Stannis wiped his hand across a sweaty brow, "I should have done better," he disagreed. " As many trade languages as I know depending on accent and inflection, you'd think I'd have a better ear for it."

Jenna gave him a patronizing pat on the shoulder and a cheeky grin, "It's old age catching up with you, Uncle.  Short-term memory loss . . . and of course, losing those upper auditory frequencies."

Stannis growled like the bear he resembled but before he could take Jenna to task for that impertinence, the lift came to an abrupt halt and the doors slid silently open.  Vila peered cautiously out, looking up and down the deserted corridor.

After verifying that the corridor number stenciled just outside the lift matched the one he remembered, Stannis glanced warily up and down the hall, then pointed to the door at the far end.  
  
"That's it," he said. "The cell where they took me yesterday, where I saw Jason."

Peering around the First Captain's bulky frame, Vila muttered, "No sign of guards. And if there are surveillance devices that our jamming can't handle, I didn't see any sign of them."  He glanced nervously at the blank entryways that lined the corridor and fumbled for his tool kit, "I don't like the looks of this, Jenna.  Those doors have all the appearance of being controlled from a main computer center."

"I don't like it either," she agreed. "But we have to try."  She glanced over her shoulder at the First Captain. "Stay in the lift, Uncle and keep it here.  I don't know if there's an alternate route out of this place in case of power outage, but I don't want to have to find it."

Stannis started to protest then realized that he was the best person for the job and subsided, "Just don't take all day, Restal.  Lucan's not a fool and I'm sure that there are some alarms somewhere that we've missed.  I truly don't want to meet up with that man again."

Vila nodded apprehensively and then turned his full to the blank metal exterior of the door, muttering, "No visible lock, no catch I can jimmy, not even a deadbolt to ease out of its shaft.  Dammit Jenna, it's almost like they've fused the door to the wall."  
  
"Just relax, Vila. You'll get it open, sooner or later."

"Sooner would be better," he muttered under his breath, fumbling through his usual locks and picks, down to the more complex degaussing and molecular bond field devices.  "Especially with that bloodyminded bondmate of yours running around with a kilo of WX 429 explosive, that you snuck into this hellhole wearing on your bare skin."  He looked up at her accusingly, "How the hell could you do it, Jenna? Risk your life . . . and mine, on such a reckless chance?"

<>"Sometimes you have to take reckless chances, Vila, for something you value."  She gave him a sidelong look. "Like that blonde gunslinger who went along with Travis and Cub-Killer.  He told me she's taken a shine to you and you don't seem to be trying too hard to duck those sultry glances she's been throwing your way."  
  
Vila was silent for a long moment as he applied one of his devices to the area where he thought the locking device should be, then he pressed a control switch and there was a brief hum.

"Try the door now," he muttered.

Jenna pulled with all her might, feeling a slight give . . . but it remained closed. "I think you're on the right track, Vila. But you need more power."

Vila nodded nervously, then cross circuited the device's control panel, shorting out the safety interlock.  He tried again, producing a loud discordant buzz then abruptly the panel shorted out with a shower of sparks that flung Vila back so hard his head impacted with the wall.   Jenna rushed to his side, placing his head in her lap as she checked his pulse and breathing.  After a quick assurance that he wasn't injured, she chided him, "Stop playing dead, Vila. You're not hurt, just frightened."

He rubbed a hand across his bleary eyes, "Frightened that we're not getting out of here, that's for sure.  There's nothing more I can do, Jenna. That last charge overloaded the device.  I don't have any more tricks up my sleeve."

"No," Jenna growled in frustration. "I'm not giving up. Not when we've come so far, endured so much.  I won't leave without him."  And she lunged at the door, working her fingers into the tight crevice between the door and the wall and pulled at it with the full weight of her body.  Uncertain what he could do in the face of such determination, Vila staggered to his feet and placed his arms around her waist and tugged for all he was worth.  
  
For long moments they swayed back and forth, hands sweating, then suddenly Jenna gasped, "I felt it shift, Vila. Just keep it up a little longer ."

Then with a brief flash of sparks the door slid open.

"You did it, Jenna," Vila gasped.  "Your sweat . . .  _and blood,"_  he added to himself, noting the torn and ragged edges of her fingers. "You shorted out the magnetic field holding the door."

Oblivious to his words, Jenna peered into the darkened cell,  suddenly frightened of what she might find.  Fighting back his own dread, Vila placed a restraining hand on her shoulder,

"Give me the burqua and I'll go in and get him changed while you and your uncle wait."

And before Jenna could stop him, Vila slipped past her quick as a fox and into the cell.  Before she could follow, she heard a harsh gagging noise and Vila's urgent appeal.  "Could you please come tell this skulking son of yours that I'm a friend and not one of his bodyguards."   
  
But before Jenna could speak, Jason had dragged Vila out of the cell and into the dimly lit hallway.  His face was battered and bloody and it looked like his nose had been broken at least once, but despite his filthy, ragged appearance, it was obvious he was all Stannis . . . and Travis.  A fighter to the bitter end.  
  
His eyes glittered as he attempted to punch Vila in the shoulder and nearly fell over in the process. "What the hell are you doing here, Restal?  You're the last one I'd expect to come on a rescue mission."  
  
"Jason," Jenna did not say anything but his name and he turned and fell into her arms trying not to give way to tears.

"I thought that you'd forgotten all about me. Lucan kept saying that no one would come after me, much less pay the ransom that he was asking.  And I almost believed him . . . then I remembered how you'd gone after Travis, when Servalan had him . . . and I held on."

"And kept fighting back,"  Jenna said in a choked voice, her bloodied fingers gently caressing his bruised face.  She quickly gulped back her tears and tossed the burqua into his arms. "Here, let  Vila help you get into this.  I don't know how thorough Lucan's surveillance is once we're outside this dungeon, but I don't want to set off any more red flares than necessary." 

"He'll have guards everywhere," Jason protested weakly.   
  
"Not if your father succeeds in his part of this rescue mission."  
  
"Travis is here?"  
  
"And the First Captain, though you already knew that."

Stannis roared impatiently, "Just get the boy dressed and catch up on family news later, Jenna. I can't hold this lift forever."

The three of them scurried into the lift, which Stannis activated with much more assurance this time.

 

XIII

  
Travis pressed himself against the alley wall, his blaster drawn and ready.  The docks and storage facilities in this section of  _La Terre_  remained in a permanent state of twilight, regardless of the daytime lighting used elsewhere.  It was as much by choice of the denizens in the area as it was any conservation measure by Lucan himself.  
  
Behind him Soolin and Cub-Killer moved with surprising speed and stealth.  Travis was beginning to realize that the Kyrenian barkeep exaggerated the degree that he was handicapped by his longtime injuries as a cover to hide how strong and deadly he truly was.  It was a tactic that Travis could sympathize with.   
  
The blonde gunslinger was another matter entirely.  If he had his choice, she wouldn't be any part of this operation.  He knew only too well what the emptiness in those bright blue eyes meant.  She was a stone cold killer, with nothing to live for.  A walking time bomb likely to blow at any second and coldly dispatch anyone and everyone that crossed her path, friend, foe or innocent bystander.  Travis had seen that mindless homicidal mode in action before and he'd walk through hot coals barefooted to avoid being caught in its path again.  
  
Unfortunately, it wasn't his choice to make.  Cub-Killer apparently had his own reasons for choosing Soolin to accompany them and he had to accept that, despite grave misgivings.  He wasn't even sure why he was trusting Cub-Killer to show him the location of the supernova warehouse.  But the Kyrenian had seemed truly repentant for his earlier betrayal of Jenna, especially after confirming her reason for making the deal with him was to obtain information to "rescue her cub."  It seemed an abrupt about face, given Cub-Killer's history.   However, Travis tended to rely on instinct . . . and this time his instincts were telling him to trust the Kyrenian.   
  
He glanced back at his companions then gestured for Cub-Killer to take the lead.  Though he was familiar with Kyrenians' stealth and scouting abilities, he was still amazed at how easily the barkeep blended into the shadowy background surrounding them.  It wasn't just due to the color and shadings of his fur, but a mindset that felt at home whether skulking in woods or alleyways.  To his surprise, Soolin was equally adept at fading into the darkness, especially after she covered her ice blonde hair with a dirty knit cap.  Like the Kyrenian, she was also quiet and sure-footed even on the slime covered stones of the alleyways at this end of the space docks.  
  
"How much further?" Travis hissed. "We need to blow this storage area ASAP, before Stannis and Jenna get to Jason's cell. The disturbance has to draw off the guards and improve their odds of escaping."

"What about our odds, One-Eye?" Soolin's voice was mildly curious.

"I don't intend for this to be a suicide mission, if that's what you're worried about."

She nodded shortly and then flattened herself against the alley wall again at his signal, as a straggling group of drug-blitzed spacers stumbled down the street away from where Travis, Cub-killer and Soolin were headed.  Travis breathed a faint sigh of relief, reluctant for their actions to be seen by any more citizens than absolutely necessary.

Meanwhile, Cub-Killer materialized out of the smoggy haze filling the street, gesturing urgently for them to follow him.  As Travis crept forward, Cub-Killer pointed to a large isolated storage facility with duracrete walls and metal-core, double-bolted doors at front and back entries.  There were also a pair of well-armed guards stationed at each doorway.

Travis wasn't happy to see the guard detail, but they didn't worry him that much until Cub-Killer pointed out the alarm attached to each man's belt.

"Timed dead-man switch," he warned in a guttural hiss. "Otherwise sleep on duty they will . . .  or other entertainments pursue. Central guard station it alerts if not keyed properly."

"Okay," Soolin said coolly as she pulled off her cap, patted down loose ends, and then opened her top enough to display a very impressive cleavage. "Time for me to do my part, distracting this pair . . . and taking care of those alarms . . . while the two of you get inside."  
  
"Activation codes you will need to silence alarms," Cub-Killer growled. "12. . .22. . .9. . .14."

"Got it," Soolin nodded  then stood up and sauntered over to the guards with the careful deliberation of the extremely intoxicated.

" 'Scuse me," she hiccuped, covering her mouth with a  _faux_  delicacy. "My friends seem to have gotten lost . . .  somewhere along here . . .  in one of the clubs.  I was wondering," she spun tipsily around, "if you might direct me to somewhere I could crash for the night ?"

  
The two guards stared in disbelief at the luscious little tidbit that had just dropped into their greedy fingers. Even Travis could not believe what he was seeing as Soolin had somehow managed to change not just her physical appearance, but her entire attitude; looking younger, smaller, and much more vulnerable than the hardened killer he knew her to be.

Apparently the guards were also deceived by her defenseless facade, sniggering together as they planned a quick break from their guard duties.

"You follow me, missy," rumbled the larger of the two, as he pulled off his belt and passed it off to his reluctant buddy. "Just hit the switches in ten minutes while I'm having my fun with Blondie here. And when I'm done, I'll do the same for you."

"Why should you get first chance at her ?" the second guard whined. "She's so blitzed she probably won't even be conscious by the time I get a turn."  
  
 "I'm first cause I said I'm first," the other man growled. "And so what, if she's out of it by the time you get yours.  Just pretend she's your old lady and poke it anywhere you like.  Maybe even that little pink mouth."  The larger man stared at Soolin lasciviously for a moment,  "Or maybe I'll just use that one myself."  
  
The second guard fidgeted, rubbing at his crotch, "Okay, just don't take all night, willya?"

"And don't you forget to punch in them codes, buddy, in exactly nine minutes or all hell will break loose and you won't get a chance at Blondie here."

"I won't, I won't.  Just hurry up, okay.  I got a real itch right now."

"Keep it in your pants, hotshot."

<>"Just don't beat her to death with that oversized gut of yours till I get a turn," the other man muttered sourly.

"What'd you say?" the larger man started to turn irately towards his fellow guard.

Taking advantage of that momentary distraction, Soolin pulled out a razor-sharp blade hidden inside her sleeve and slashed  his throat so quickly that he never even saw the knife.  The blood spurting momentarily blinded the second guard and before he could react to set off the alarm, she had lunged forward and slashed his throat all the way back to the spine, effectively silencing him as well.  Both men crumpled into the alleyway, still thrashing and twitching, with their blood spilling into the gutters as Soolin looked down at them with disgust.  
  
Wary as he was of Soolin's lethal abilities, Travis was still surprised by the speed of her transformation from cute, tipsy blonde into coldly efficient killing machine.

Kneeling to pull off the two guards' blood stained belts, Soolin turned to Travis and said in a flat tone of voice, "I'll stay here, punch in the codes and keep an eye out for more guards, while you and Cub-Killer set the explosives."  She glanced uneasily around at the still deserted streets,  "And don't take all morning either. No telling when their relief is due."

Travis gave a reluctant nod before following Cub-Killer into the shadows.  Soolin had demonstrated her skill and composure in a tight situation, but he was still reluctant to leave her alone to guard their rear.  Except there was no other choice.

Cub-Killer halted a few moments later at the storage unit's engineering stack where the warehouse's electrical, temperature, and humidity control units were all housed and gestured impatiently.

"Explosives set here, One-Eye, and Governor's entire stash of supernova in one blast will be wiped out."

Travis glanced over the units, spotting their vulnerabilities and connections to the warehouse.  Cub-Killer was correct in stating that blowing the stack would destroy the building.

But Travis still had enough doubts about Cub-Killer's veracity regarding the exact contents of the facility that he wasn't going to just take the Kyrenian's word.  
  
"That's not good enough," he growled.  
  
"If this warehouse you destroy, over a year's production of supernova in flames will go up.  Distribution in this sector to a standstill you bring . . . and Lucan Governor most unhappy will be.  Alliances lost will be, people enslaved will not be and credits by millions to his accounts will not come.  Enough revenge for you that is not?  What more want you? "  
  
"To be certain," Travis's voice was a harsh rasp. "That what this warehouse contains is really supernova . . . and not just an accumulation of moth-eaten blankets and outdated tins of potted meat.  So you find a way to get us inside, Cub-Killer . . .  without betraying any one else."

"Trust me no longer, do you, One-Eye?"

"Let's just say I still have my doubts.  Your partners seem to have a high mortality rate, not to mention setting Jenna up like you did.  If I hadn't got there soon enough . . . "   Travis shuddered in the smoky darkness, trying to banish the image spilling through his mind of Jenna, spread-eagled and naked, rutting like an animal, as one man after another violated her body.

"Betrayed by Lucan  was I.  Chandra Captain's supernova dose diluted was supposed to be.  Inhibitions lowered  enough to make her talk, no more.  Spalden's attack Lucan's double-dealing revealed.  Sending you to her rescue was only hope, after smelling  _her_  scent on  _your_  body."

Travis lunged forward, grabbing up the loose skin around Cub-Killer's neck, hissing into his face, "Sex is not a spectator sport, Kyrenian.  At least not where Jenna and I are concerned.  And not among your people either, as I recall.  You've lived in this slime pit too long, if you believe otherwise."

The Kyrenian's shoulders slumped and his bright green eye turned away from Travis's as he half-sighed, half-yowled, "Too long in this slime pit have I been.  Honor, courage, and decency bartered away for survival."

Cub-Killer gazed up into Travis's fierce expression,  "Past due time is to buy back  my honor, with blood and death if necessary."  He drew his sword and brandished it before Travis, leaving him to wonder for a moment if he'd have to kill the Kyrenian before trying to break into the warehouse.  
  
But before he could draw his weapon, Cub-Killer had slunk soundlessly to the front entrance of the warehouse, where he drew out a code bar and quickly disarmed the triple secured system. <>"Make haste," he hissed. "Even with guards, locks, and security cameras disabled, a close watch Lucan keeps over this treasure.  Not in a thousand years could we disable all his security systems.  So explosives set on a  short timer, One-eye.  Better not to escape this place alive, than fall into Lucan's hands after destroying his cache."  
  
Travis nodded swiftly as he began slapping pieces of the chemical explosive at strategic areas throughout the narrow corridors where sacks of the drug were stacked almost twelve feet high.  As he distributed the primed strips of WX 429 throughout the warehouse, he tried to ignore the pungent aroma that permeated the building.  Even though he couldn't identify the alien script on the bags, there was no mistaking that musky blatantly sexual odor.  It reminded him too vividly of the scene at the bar before he rescued Jenna . . .  and their brief but intense erotic reunion once she revealed her true identity.  
  
"Keep your mind on the mission," he muttered to himself.  "Less than ten minutes to set the charges and blow this site to hell and gone.  Stop woolgathering . . . or that'll be the last time you hold Jenna in your arms."  
  
He finished placing the last portion of the chemical explosive and pulled off the carryall, tossing it over his shoulder.  Permeated with fragments of the WX 429, it would likely go up with as loud a bang as the charges.  He glanced over at Cub-Killer who was pressed flat against the door, peering out into the darkness.  
  
"Time run out has . Second detail  showed up has."  
  
"Just my luck. Of all the times to run into a set of guards following regs," Travis muttered under his breath.  "What about Soolin?  Did they find her with the bodies ?" <>  
  
"Not yet," Cub-Killer peered into the shadowy darkness.  "Dragged them into alleyway she has, not readily visible.  Little lost lamb act she tries on this pair, but more suspicious they are.  Move now we must. Open the door and charge out in full battle cry I will.  Trigger your charges and then follow . . . and may the Mother Goddess take us swiftly to her ever-flowing teats."   
    
Travis tried to stop the Kyrenian from making that suicidal charge, but Cub-Killer evaded his grip and charged into the darkness, giving an inhuman scream that made the hairs on the back of Travis's neck stand straight up.   
  
He'd heard Phrath's savage yowls in half a dozen barroom brawls and planetary skirmishes over the last few years, but never anything as absolutely bone-chilling as the battle cry that Cub-killer gave charging towards the guards.  It was the cry of a  predator intent on ripping out its prey's throat and feasting on its flesh.  Even though he was not its target, for a brief moment Travis felt the bowel-loosening terror it was meant to inspire.  
  
Then a lifetime of training and long-honed survival reflexes kicked in as Travis triggered the charges and made a low diving roll that kept him below the main effects of the blast and took him out of its radius before he came to his knees, weapon blazing.  Taking her cue from that hard-charging assault, Soolin began firing her weapons with brutal efficiency

The blonde gunslinger had discarded her knives after dealing with the guards and had two blasters out and blazing away. Despite his bloodthirsty cry, Cub-Killer used his ancient energy weapon until it abruptly malfunctioned, leaving him armed with only a combination of sword and claws.  Still, the lethal speed of both left several watch members moaning in the gutter, guts clutched in their bloody hands.  Despite the deadliness of that attack, their opponents were not shrinking in number but increasing with the untimely arrival the relief detail, bolstered with a whole detachment of Lucan's hired thugs.

Travis felt the tingle of his blaster's charger pack, indicating that it would soon be exhausted and fumbled at his belt for a fresh pack. But before he could replace it, a bolt out of the dark hit his left arm, frying the linkages and leaving the cyberarm little more than a dead weight hanging at his side.  He dropped to one knee, fumbling with the charger pack as he tried to reload one-handed but the odds were against him.

Cub-Killer's full-throated battle howl  abruptly ended in a sharp hiss followed by the kind of gurgling moan that he recognized only too well.  Charging blindly, Travis reached the dying Kyrenian's side.  Scorched and tattered, the barkeep's body looked terribly small huddled in the bloody alleyway, but as Travis rolled him gently over, taking that scarred head onto his knees, the fierce green eye opened one last time and looked into his, saying in a wheezing gasp.

"Great battle . . .  we fought, One Eye. .  maybe . . .  pardon . . this one earned . . .  .to rest at feet of Mother Goddess . . . and hear her purr . . . "  
  
The breath rattled in his throat and his body went limp, leaving Travis alone to stare bleakly up into the horde of lethal weapons now aimed at him.  Ignoring them, he fumbled with the tattered sash at Cub-Killer's waist, awkwardly untying it and wiping down his sword's blade, before stuffing it inside his tunic and muttering, "Blood of your enemies, Cort Deadlyclaw, on the Warrior's Altar.  I swear."   
  
Off to one side, Soolin knelt in the gore spattered street with a blaster in each hand and a dozen energy rifles aimed directly at her.  Travis held his breath, seeing the empty look in her eyes and aware of the mindset behind that look.  He knew she would not drop her weapons, but choose to go out in a burst of blaster fire, taking an honor guard into hell with her.  He understood the sentiment all too well, but with no weapon and crippled cyberarm, there was little he could do except resign himself to a quick death, caught in the crossfire.  
  
There was a long silent moment, and Travis glanced around impatiently wondering what the hold-up was on their fast-track to oblivion.  The empty look of a moment before was gone and instead there was a stricken, almost frightened expression on the girl's face.  Soolin no longer had the empty eyes of a cold-blooded killer, but appeared younger and more vulnerable, her weapons and resolve seeming to waver.  Travis wasn't sure if this was a temporary ruse or a genuine change of heart, but whatever it was, he didn't think that the officer in charge of the detail was buying it.  
  
"Toss down your weapons," he snarled.  "Or I'll fry you where you stand.  Though I probably ought to do it anyway because of the aggravation you've caused me."  
  
Soolin complied with his order then stood slowly up, her lush curves and tattered blood-stained coverall catching the eyes of almost every man in the detail.

"On the other hand, a pretty little thing like you . . . you're probably just an innocent bystander.  We won't put your name in the  report . . . if you're nice to me, that is."

As the officer started to move closer, Travis wondered if this was another ploy on Soolin's part, to get close enough to use whatever weapon he was sure she still had hidden on her person.  Or if she was willing to do whatever it took in order to survive.  His brow drew down in consternation. Usually he wasn't so far off in reading a person's motivations,  but Soolin was a complete enigma to him.

But before Soolin had a chance to get any closer, a guard charged through the gathered crowd of underlings, screaming at the top of his lungs, "Stop standing there with your tongues hanging out, you fools . . . and start trying to put that fire out!  Don't you know where we are?  What that building holds?  The Guv'ner 'll skin us alive if we don't get that blaze out and salvage something outta this cluster fuck."

The detail gaped in momentary disbelief at the growing inferno, then began grabbing dockside fire suppressant tanks and belatedly dragging out hoses and chemical extinguishers in an effort to contain the blaze.  Travis stared at the madly dashing crew before sneering at the chief guard.

"You might as well put that weapon to your head and pull the trigger. Your guards won't be able to do anything except spread the blaze. Cub-Killer and I used the most flammable explosive money could buy . . . so that section will probably burn down to bedrock . . . "

Before he could continue, the officer turned on him, eyes blazing as he backhanded Travis so hard that he knocked him flat. "Shut your mouth, One-Eye . . . or I'll cut your tongue out before I deliver you to the Governor.  Your fuzzy pal was lucky."   
The man kicked at Cub-Killer's tattered carcass. "He's dead. But you and Blondie here . . . you'll spend the rest of your lives dying by inches and wishing you'd never been born."  
  
"Maybe so," Travis gave a sardonic grin through his bloody swollen mouth. "But knowing Lucan's likely reaction to the loss of that warehouse, wewon't be the only ones."   
  


 XIV

 

Travis was much more battered when they dragged him in into Lucan's luxurious suite, but he'd survived worse beatings at the hands of professionals. It wasn't that Lucan's thugs lacked the will or the malice to leave him a broken, shattered hulk, but  seemed more terrified of facing Lucan's wrath at depriving him of a chance to indulge his well-known sadistic nature.   

 

Even Soolin escaped the typical salacious manhandling a female captive would have experienced.  But in her case, Travis wasn't sure whether the hirelings were more afraid of arousing Lucan's ire . . . or the icy stare that she had given them when they started to frisk her.  While removing an astonishing arsenal of knives, clip guns and needlers, the officer in charge did not touch her any more than was absolutely necessary to locate and remove her weapons.  
  
Staggering to his feet after being dragged in and shoved to the floor, Travis gazed around at Lucan's office/seraglio/throne room.  Velvet hangings swathed the walls, jewel-toned woven rugs overlapped one another on the floor, which was covered with silken cushions upon which lounged, slouched, or simply waited in dread, naked beings of all ages, species and sexes. Travis's gaze flicked over them once, taking in their abject expressions before he turned his attention to Governor Lucan, seated behind an enormous bloodwood desk and staring at his vid screen which showed the still smoking aftermath of his and Cub-Killer's handiwork.

"I see I underestimated you, Captain Travis."

"Most people do."

"You're not the brainless, rutting, broken-down ex-soldier that you pretended to be."

 

  
"It was a good enough disguise. With your attention focused on Stannis as the most likely threat, it left me free to explore  _La Terre,_ looking for your weaknesses . . . your soft underbelly."

Lucan drummed his fingers on the fragrant and priceless wood of the desk, his mild expression unchanged. "You hardly struck me as that kind of simple minded do-gooder, determined to protect people from their own freely chosen vices, Captain."

"Go to hell, Governor."

A slow smile crossed Lucan's face as he shrugged in amusement, gesturing at the decadently embellished room around them and his slaves cowering in the corner.  
  
"This is  _Hell_ , Captain Travis.  Designed and created to my exact specifications and I am its unquestioned ruler, controlling its atmosphere, gravity, light and power as well as laws and commerce.  Even the lives, deaths and thoughts of every being who inhabits  _La Terre de la Nuit San Fin_ , The Land of Eternal Night.  Rather appropriate don't you think?"

Travis sneered as he leaned forward and spat on the gleaming wood top of the desk.

"I've dealt with scum like you before, Lucan. With your delusions of grandeur, believing yourself master of all you survey.  Just because you've set yourself up as supreme potentate on this cesspit of a refueling dump on a backwater asteroid, you think you can indulge your infantile pretensions of power and glory.  
  
He stared defiantly into Lucan's still amused expression, "You picked the wrong victim this time, Governor. Thinking you can intimidate any captain of the Free Traders' Enclave, much less Mikhail Stannis.  That little incident with the warehouse was just a down payment."  
  
"And what might it be a 'down payment' on, Captain."

"The kind of trouble you'll be buying if you interfere with any Stannis ship, crew or cargo ever again.  And that goes double for any member of the First Captain's household."

"That's an amusing bit of bluster, Captain,"  Lucan leaned back in his chair, the tips of his fingers pressed together as he gave Travis a cold, assured glare. "Considering that you, the First Captain, his niece and your bondmate, Jenna, and your son, Jason, are all in my custody, along with assorted other cohorts and hangers-on."

He touched a panel on his desk, causing the door to slide open and to Travis's dismay, Mikhail, Jenna, Jason, and Vila were dragged into the room by a large and well-armed escort, led by his toady Vontard.

As his heart sank at Jenna's and Jason's presence, he turned his ire on the First Captain, "Dammit, old man, I told you to take off at 1300 hours, whether we made it back or not."

Stannis turned to face him head on, showing distinct signs of swelling and bruising around his left eye, "I tried, you bloody fool, but Jenna had other ideas."

Before Travis could vent his outrage at Jenna, she snapped at him, "Shut up, Travis. The Governor is a politician . . .  and a sensible man.  I intend to offer him a deal that he can't refuse."

Travis felt the blood pounding in his head, but held his tongue, knowing that Jenna was absolutely fearless, a canny judge of character, and a very sharp businesswoman besides.  Maybe she would be able to beguile her way out of this disaster.

With a predator's gleam in his eyes and a megawatt smile, Lucan stepped out from behind his fortress of a desk and offered Jenna his arm.  Steering her across the suite's plush rugs until he seated her on a velvet divan with cushions so deep and thick that she was almost reclining.

"So nice to meet you, Captain Stannis . . . or perhaps you would preferred to be called by your  _nom de guerre_  - Captain Chandra?"

Jenna gave a tinkling lilt of laughter, that set the blood boiling in Travis's veins, "That was just a disguise to fool my uncle, who was afraid I might give away some of the clan's profits in order to save my son."

"How very foolish and greedy of him, Captain."  Lucan leered at the expanses of ivory skin exposed by Chandra's flash leathers. "All he had to do was send  _you_  as his emissary and I would have gladly returned your wayward offspring for a mere pittance to compensate me for his food and housing expenses."

He turned his attention from Jenna's cleavage for a brief moment, waving one hand idly in the direction of his so-called executive assistant.

"Vontard, bring us a pitcher of wine, that vintage from Elysium that I've been saving for special guests."  

The executive assistant gave an ill-tempered nod and moved towards one of the numerous built-in cabinets that lined the room. Lucan turned his icy gaze on the guard detail that had dragged Travis and Soolin into his presence, along with the forces that served as escorts for Mikhail and his party.

"Captain, take your detail back to the docks and see if anything is salvageable from that warehouse blast.  Report to me within the hour, regardless of what you find."

The Captain saluted reluctantly and started to leave, then seemed to have second thoughts, "It was looking ugly down there when we left, Governor.  The drones and distributers all knew what was in that warehouse and a lot of the bystanders weren't too happy . . . "  
  
"You left Cub-killer's carcass down there, didn't you?"  Lucan snapped. "Let them vent their wrath on that for the time being.  We might even throw them what's left of Captain Travis later, if negotiations become difficult.  Use whatever force is necessary to keep things under control."

The Captain withdrew, clearly unhappy with his assignment, while Lucan turned his attention to the security detail that had escorted Jenna and her crew.

"Sergeant, you and your men keep a close watch on our guests."  
  
From the divan where she was draped, Jenna waved a negligent hand and stared at Lucan with an artfully coy expression. "Surely a powerful man like yourself, Governor isn't afraid of two women, a pickpocket and half-grown boy, much less an old man and a crippled ex-Federation officer?  Besides, it's so hard to negotiate a  _proper_  deal with underlings present."

Lucan stared at her lush figure speculatively, wondering what it would be like to take her like the bitch she was in front of her so-called protectors, especially that cold-eyed killer who was her bondmate.  Having the guards present would assure his safety, but rob him of some of  the enjoyment of intimidating his guests into submission with his own powers.  He licked his lips in anticipation, then dismissed half the detail.

"That will be all, Sergeant.  Leave four of your men in here to assure our guests behave in a civilized fashion.  I can summon the rest of you if  needed."

"But Guv'ner," the hapless sergeant protested, eyeing the Free Traders' grim expressions and obvious hostility.  "They're trouble makers.  You saw what those two did on the docks," he gestured towards Travis and Soolin.

Lucan's eyes raked over Travis taking in his bloody, battered features and disabled cyber arm.  Soolin had resumed her protective coloration, appearing younger, smaller, and much less dangerous than she really was.

"I'm quite capable of defending myself, Sergeant."  There was a feral glint in Lucan's eyes that made the sergeant shudder and he selected four of his men to remain on watch, then made a clumsy salute and quickly departed.

There was an abrupt rise in tension as soon as the Sergeant departed and Lucan stared at his guests with a look of amused contempt. "Even if you managed to overpower the guards, you'd never succeed in taking me hostage to aid in your escape from  _La Terre."_

He closed his eyes momentarily and slumped to one side, and half a second later his feral gaze was staring from Vontard's sculpted features.  "He's not the only one programmed and equipped to be my mental receptacle."  His voice changed tone as he entered first one of the male slaves' bodies and then one of the female slaves before returning to his own body with a sudden shudder.  "Round and round he goes, where he stops . . . nobody knows."

Despite that  outrageous display, the guards remained calmly vigilant, though there was a chilling almost lunatic note to the governor's laughter as Lucan turned to Jenna and handed her the goblet of wine that he had just poured while inhabiting Vontard's body.  Momentarily startled, Jenna's hand shook in reaction to that manic body-swapping antic and she glanced over to her uncle, whose stone-faced expression indicated his lack of surprise, having seen a similar display while in Lucan's presence.  Taking her cue from him, she pretended to take a sip of the wine and gave a brittle laugh.

"That's very amusing, Governor Lucan. Are all your underlings equipped to act as host for your consciousness?"  
  
"Sadly, no," he made a moue of disappointment. "The alien scientist who possessed the technology had an 'unfortunate accident' before he could perform the necessary alterations on more than a scant dozen of my household.  It was really too bad. I was so looking forward to being able to keep an eye on the enterprises in the lower end of the docks, drugs, sex,  blood-sports . . . just to make sure nothing profitable or amusing was escaping my attention."  
  
Lucan took a sip of his wine and chuckled wickedly, "Like that little incident in the  _Oasis_  early this morning."

Jenna felt her cheeks start to redden and took a deep breath, pretending to swallow more of the wine before turning a bland look in his direction, "Some sort of altercation, I would presume.  We have a similar problem with rough types in the Enclave." She waved one hand in dismissal, " But surely a man of your importance and influence has more important things to do with his valuable time than monitor dockside brawls."

Going along with Jenna's verbal byplay for the moment, Lucan gave her a predatory smile before drinking deeply from his own cup.  Travis and Mikhail exchanged worried looks, wondering what drugs might be in the wine and how much longer Jenna could avoid drinking it.

A mellow tone echoed from the desk and Lucan stared at it petulantly, "Damn, I told that girl not to interrupt us. Vontard, go see what she's whining about now."

As Vontard reluctantly obeyed, Lucan slumped momentarily and his golden gaze glittered from his assistant's face, as he demanded, "I told you not to disturb me . . . "

Her reply left an irritated expression on Vontard's face, "There isn't going to be a problem with distribution.  I will have the ships and cargo facilities that I need within two weeks time, I assure you.  No, there aren't any difficulties here with the drug supply, of that you can be certain.  You can have all the  _supernova_  that you can afford, as soon as the funds are in my account. Good-bye."  
  
"And don't interrupt me with any further calls, no matter who they come from," Vontard barked harshly before slumping into his normal posture.   
  
Jenna ran her finger along the edge of the goblet, producing an irritating noise, "That doesn't seem to be good business practice, refusing calls from your clients."  
  
"I have the supplies, they have the demand, so I tell them when, where, and how much I'll deliver.  They have no choice but to accept my terms.  Won't you have some more wine, my dear?"

Waving her hand carelessly, Jenna put the cup off to one side where it was not easily accessible and extracted herself from the depths of the divan and Lucan's leering presence with a surprising lithe grace.  She paced toward the center of the room, then turned to face Lucan again with Travis, Mikhail, and Jason at her back.  Vila was huddled at Soolin's side, off to her right, with Vontard and the guards along with the rest of Lucan's toys and tools scattered throughout the room.

A little miffed at Jenna's withdrawal from easy groping distance, Lucan leaned back on the divan, "Well, what exactly is on your mind, Captain Jenna?  How can I be of service to you?"

"Very simple, Governor.  I'd like for my uncle, my son and my bondmate to be allowed to return to his ship.  I'd consider it a kindness if you included Vila and his new friend, the blonde gunslinger in that party as well.  After arranging for suitable remuneration to be deposited to  _La Terre's_  exchange accounts,  _Valkyrie_  would be allowed take off and return to the Enclave."

"And what about you, Captain Jenna, what would be your part of this bargain?"

"I would arrange for the financial transfer and when everything was done to your satisfaction, I would pilot the  _Sabre_  back to Enclave space."   
  
Lucan smiled enigmatically into his cup, looking like a cat with a mouse by the tail,  "That might have been possible before the little incident at the warehouse.  Though of course, I would have expected you to become one of my playthings as part payment for your son's release," he gestured to the group of naked branded and tattooed slaves cowering in the corner.  
  
Jenna stared at him impassively, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing her doubt and dismay, "Go on, Governor. I'm sure that's not all that you demanded, especially when you had the First Captain as a captive audience."  
  
Lucan's smirk was so self-assured, that it was all Jenna could do not to slap him but she listened with her head tilted to one side as though giving serious attention to his outrageous demands. "Of course, my initial demand was that the First Captain turn over title and custody of all Enclave ships . . . along with their contracts and materiels."   
  
"And I'm sure that my uncle explained to you that he did not have the power . . .  or the inclination to do any such thing?"  
  
"There was some lame excuse about the other clans' sovereignty and independent captains.  And that nothing could be done without long, drawn out negotiations.  So I informed him that I would allow him one week to convince his fellow captains as to the sincerity of my offer, then I would start returning his nephew to him one piece at a time . . . maybe an eye first.  That way he could have a matching set of one-eyed, crippled nephews.  Of course, that was before Captain Travis here chose to inconvenience me with his fireworks.  Now the deal is off."  
  
Jenna felt a cold knot in the center of her chest. She had dealt with the Terra Nostra before and knew how ruthless they could be when crossed, but this man frightened her even more.  Greed and their absurd pretense of a "Code of Honor' were the chief motives that ruled most Terra Nostra operatives.  She had bribed her way out of their clutches on several occasions and shot her way out when the bribes had not been enough.

But Lucan was different.  It wasn't just his facade of good humor and politeness, which barely concealed the lethal venom underneath, but she had serious doubts about his sanity and the extent to which he intended to feed his depraved appetite for vengeance on her and her family.

<>Jenna glanced over at Vila, noting his grim, "I told you so" expression which steeled her resolve in dealing with this abomination. She would take a page from Vila's handbook then . . .  and give the monster what he thrived on.  
  
Fear.  Fear . . .  and tearful pleas for mercy. Pleading and begging on her knees . . . until she got close enough.  
  
"Surely you don't expect something for nothing, Governor," Jenna's voice contained a nervous little laugh. "Torturing and murdering my bondmate and son, making me your sexual plaything - why do you think the First Captain would even consider negotiations that offer him such unfavorable terms?"   
  
"The old bastard wants to live a little longer," Lucan shrugged.  "And if he agrees to my terms, his last few years would be very pleasurable indeed, with full-time limbic stimulation and VR realities that would fulfill his wildest fantasy. " The governor glanced sidelong at Stannis noting his pale, sweaty face and trembling hands, certain that he had voiced the old man's deepest cravings and that he would soon be on his knees pleading and offering Lucan his entire fleet for another few minutes with the cyber-helmet.   
  
To his surprise, Jenna dropped to her knees before him and raised her hands in desperate appeal.

"I don't care about my uncle or my bond-mate, just let Jason go free, I beg you.  Don't hurt my son.  I'll do whatever you ask  
 . . . willingly, if you'll only let Jason go free.  Let me see him leave safely on our ship and I'll be your slave, no questions asked."

Lucan stared at down at Jenna and then back to her so-called friends and family, momentarily savoring their ravaged emotions. Jason, horrified at Jenna's abject plea for his life, Stannis numb with shock and dismay, Travis simmering with outrage at her apparent betrayal.

"A very pretty act, my dove, but I know your breed all too well."

Jenna tried to lunge away when she realized that he had not been taken in by her counterfeit display but his hand was tangled in her hair, pulling her head back until her white throat was exposed and vulnerable.   
  
Seemingly from nowhere he palmed a hypospray filled with some vile looking fluid.  
  
"You'll be my willing slave, all right.  This dose of supernova is enough to rob you of will, identity, even the volition to do anything more than screw mindlessly and repeatedly with any man, woman, or beast that comes near you.  I'll enjoy you a couple of times as your bondmate watches and then let each of this merry group have a turn."  
  
<>Lucan's eyes glittered with anticipation at the horror in her uncle's and Jason's eyes, while Travis's expression had gone absolutely empty.  Even Vila looked appalled while his blonde companion appeared somewhat distracted.  
  
Jenna clutched Lucan's wrist in terror, her nails digging into his skin, determined to die before suffering that loss of self-control again.   Travis abruptly lunged into the middle of their struggle, shoving Jenna away as Lucan activated the spray, injecting the full dose of its virulent contents . . .  into Travis's non-functioning cyberarm.

Travis gave the governor a savage grin as he gripped his throat one-handed,  "Care to go a round or two with me, Guv'ner?  I may not have Jenna's charms, but I can promise you a night that you'll never forget."

Before Jenna could warn her bondmate that Lucan probably had another trick or two up his sleeve, Vontard had lunged toward the desk, undoubtedly intending to sound the alarm.  Abruptly there was a burst of light and he slumped down, his throat a ruin of scorched flesh.  Soolin swore softly to herself, clutching the palm of her hand which showed a small blackened hole, where she apparently had a miniature one-shot laser implanted.

"Last resort holdout weapon," she explained tersely.

Momentarily frozen by the rapidfire change in Lucan's status from victor to victim, the guards started to reach for their weapons.  But Mikhail lunged with surprising speed for a man his size, grabbing one guard in each arm and snapping their necks with the bear-like fury that had been building in him since Lucan had made his demands.  Jason tackled a third guard and was hammering at his face with fists locked together, venting a week's worth of  fear, outrage, and frustration.  Even Vila proved surprisingly swift and deadly, stabbing the last guard in the back of the neck with a venom-tipped needle that Soolin had given him at the Redoubt to conceal in his belt.  

Travis's grip on the governor's neck tightened, until there was an audible crack and the man slumped bonelessly in his grip.

Jenna staggered to her feet, gasping, "Jason, Mikhail, keep your eyes on those slaves and don't let any of them try anything. Just in case he's made another body swap."  
  
Leaving the bodies of the guards, Mikhail's intimidating size and Jason's ruthless expression prevented any outbursts as they rushed over to where the slaves were cowering, obviously terrified by the abrupt change in their fortunes.  
  
"How will we know?" Jason demanded, "and what the hell can we do about it?"   
  
"Kill them all and burn the bodies" Mikhail retorted. "Especially that carcass that Travis is holding."  
  
Jenna stared at her uncle in dismay, "But Uncle, they're victims too."  
  
"Maybe so, but unless they're all disposed of , there's no way that we'll be sure that Lucan hasn't made his escape and won't return to cause us even more trouble in the future."

"I agree with your uncle . . . for once," Travis stated in a harsh voice. "Lucan was much too dangerous to take the risk that he'll come back to haunt us.  Especially with this alien body-swapping technology . . .  and the formula for  _supernova_.  We've got to make sure he never has a chance to endanger the Enclave again."

Jenna shook her head in disagreement, staring at the cowering and terrified slaves as their fate was decided. "Look, the likelihood is that when you grabbed Lucan, he jumped straight into Vontard's body.  He wasn't expecting Soolin to be armed and when she killed Vontard, he wouldn't have had time to jump anywhere else."  
  
" 'Round and round and round he goes, where he stops . . . nobody knows?'" Travis quoted grimly, then he grabbed Jenna's shoulder with his flesh-and-blood arm.  "Look, I've done this before and I know how to deal with it.  Our real concern is going to be getting back to the ship without the Governor's bodyguards trying to blow us to kingdom come."   
  
While Vila rummaged through Lucan's wall cabinets in search of soma or other alcoholic substance to use to clean her burn and settle his own rattled nerves, Soolin searched for a hidden weapons stash.  Vila finally located a well-stocked liquor shelf, but during that search he also came across a series of security monitors which showed scenes from cameras positioned throughout  _La Terre . . ._ and what they were showing wasn't the normal daily rush of activity, like they had seen in the corridors earlier.  
  
Instead, there was a large crowd of people muttering angrily, throwing bottles and other debris at security details and through building windows.  Once or twice the bottles flamed up with a loud whoosh and the buildings began to burn. "What the hell set this off?"  Coming up behind him, Mikhail was aghast.  
  
Travis glanced over his shoulder at the mob on the screen, "Possibly rumors of a severe supernova shortage . . . or maybe Lucan's bully boys rubbed a few too many people the wrong way, while trying to contain the situation at the warehouse."

He turned his gaze back to Lucan's apparently cowering slaves, muttering under his breath, "Or maybe Cort Deadlyclaw's death inspired a few of his customers and fellow saloon owners to grow some backbone."

Mikhail and Jenna studied the screens intently, putting the images together with the map of  _La Terre_  and its docking areas engraved in their minds.  
  
"If we can just get past the receptionist and guard detail stationed outside, then we have a good chance to make it to the docks and our ship."

What about my ship . . .  _Sabre?"_ Jenna demanded somewhat truculently

"If you want another broken down blockade runner, I'll get you one on the salvage market," Mikhail answered in exasperation. "But right now I think our best chance of escaping this pesthole before everything goes up with a blinding flash is if everyone heads for  _Valkyrie_."

Rummaging through Lucan's desk, Soolin located the cache of weapons she was hunting and hastily rearmed herself despite the handicap of her scorched left palm.  Mikhail, Jason, and Jenna also eagerly claimed armaments from that supply while Travis glanced over the blasters and selected one, which he casually stuck in his belt.

"Now, how do you suggest that we get out of here, under the watchful eyes of Lucan's security guards?" Mikhail demanded impatiently.

"I'm betting that the detail stationed out front has already had at least two requests for reinforcements for crowd control at that situation on the docks.  They're already nervous and edgy, expecting us to cause trouble . . . so let's give them some.  Just not what they're expecting."

He turned to Vila, "Pass over your stash from that liquor cabinet."

Vila clutched at the bulging front of his shirt, "Surely, you're not planning what I think you're planning?  This is fifty year old scotch . . . and real Napoleon Brandy . . . from the original Napoleon planet!  It's much too valuable to use for starting fires."

"Would you prefer that I break off your fingers and toes and use them as tinder to start this little blaze?" Travis asked in his quietest and most deadly tone of voice as Vila jerked his head in a terrified negative.

"All right, help me pour this stuff all over the room.  Especially on Lucan's body.  Then we'll set it ablaze.  Once the room is filled with smoke, I'll open the door and the rest of you run out screaming 'He's on fire!  The Governor's on fire!'. They'll charge in to rescue him and won't give the rest of you a second look.   I'll deal with the slaves and meet you at the ship."

Jenna grabbed the front of Travis's jacket and snarled, her eyes glittering with tears.

"Not this time, lover. I'm not going to wait for you again. You're coming with us right now, or we'll stay here until you're finished.  Understand?"  
  
Travis started to protest then saw the determination in Jenna's eyes and nodded his reluctant agreement. "All right, but when we charge out of that room, don't stop for anything. You understand, not for anything."  
  
With Vila moaning in protest and even stopping occasionally to lick his fingers, they quickly splashed the contents of the Governor's liquor cabinet all over the plush cushions, draperies, and then saturated the body sprawled in the middle of the priceless desk.  Travis kept a wary eye on the cowering slaves, certain that at least one of them would attempt to make a break when everything was ignited and smoke began to fill the room.

He was just about to set the blaze when he glanced over at Vila and noticed that the entire front of his shirt and pants were soaked with alcohol.

"Restal," he erupted. "How the hell did you get covered in booze?"

Vila looked down his front somewhat contritely,  "It must've happened when I was trying to get that brandy stowed away. So you'd just use gin, vodka, and the like.  Not the really good stuff."

"Get those clothes off unless you want to go up like a Guy Fawkes firecracker," he ordered harshly.

"But I can't run through the streets naked," Vila protested, until Jason tossed the burqua in his direction.

"Here, put this on. You look better wearing it than I do. Besides it might help throw the guards off."

Vila complied, grumbling as he stripped to the skin and then donned the heavy burqua.

"Probably get left behind, wearing this old tent again."

"Don't worry, little thief," Soolin tousled his hair with her good hand and gave him a seductive grin. "I won't let them leave you."

"Besides," Jenna agreed. "I promised Dani that I'd get it back to her in one piece and with no blood stains . . .  or other bodily fluids on it.  So behave yourself."

As they stood impatiently by the door, Travis raised his blaster and fired at Lucan's body on the desk and once he was sure it was blazing well, he ignited the pool of alcohol furthest from the door.  The room was immediately filled with the stench of roasting meat and moments later the six of them were choking and gasping from smoke and fumes as rugs, hangings, and plush cushions began to smoulder and then burst into flames.

Peering intently through his watering eye towards Lucan's body, Travis spotted the tics and writhing that he expected to see and nodding to Mikhail to open the door, he called out at the top of his lungs, "He's on fire, the Guv'ner's burning!  You've got to save him!"

And to the horror of everyone in the group, Lucan's body sat up on his desk right in the middle of the flames and seemed to give a terrible moaning cry, as though he actually was burning alive.  Jenna felt her heart threaten to leap from her chest but charged ahead, through the group of bodyguards who were staring equally horrified at that apalling image, seeing his hands clutch at his chest and steam gush from his eyeballs as they boiled away.

Swallowing back her rising gorge, Jenna pushed her way through the outer door and fled blindly down the hallway, just barely aware that Jason was steadying her uncle as he choked and coughed, trying to keep up with her headlong run.  Soolin and Vila were close on her uncle's heels.  Only Travis lagged behind waiting to see if any of Lucan's slaves had enough instinct for self-preservation left to make a run for it.   If so, he intended to drop that slave in his or her tracks.

Meanwhile, the guards were grabbing at cushions and rugs and flailing away at Lucan's body, in a desperate effort to extinguish the blaze and save their employer.  But it was already too late though they did not realize it.  The body's seemingly spontaneous movement was just post-mortem tissue contractions in response to the heat of the flames.  Travis had seen the phenomenon a dozen times before . . .  and he would never forget the ghastly image.

With a last glance at the smoke filled interior of Lucan's office, Travis charged down the hallway and found Jenna waiting for him at stairwell.

"Lifts or stairs?"

"How damn far do we have to climb?" he panted, starting to feel the drag of his disabled cyberarm.

"No more than twenty flights, I would guess. Though you and Mikhail are the experts . . .  with your infra-red map projectors . . .  and high tech surveillance jamming and other break-in equipment."  There was a bit of a snide note in Jenna's voice.

"I prefer the old-fashioned methods myself, " Vila's voice wavered a bit unsteadily as Soolin's lush figure leaned against him.

<>"And I'd prefer to take the lifts . . .  unless you think the fire has effected their circuits?" Mikhail's voice didn't have its usual penetrating power, though he wasn't any more short of breath than the rest of them.  
  
"All we can do is try," Travis gave a lopsided shrug as they hit the button for the space dock level.

In the smoldering room that they had just left, a slender ebony skinned girl, wearing little more than beaded bracelets and anklets stared after the fleeing Free Traders.  Her normally timid brown eyes were a feral gold and she moved towards a unburned section of the room with purpose and resolve, muttering under her breath, "There will be a reckoning one day, Stannis . . . and you'll pay in full for what you've done."

But before she could reach the secret cabinet with the weapons and cash that she would need to survive, a large hand wrapped itself around her wrist.  
  
"Oh, you're a pretty one aren't you?  We'll have a good time tonight and for the next couple of days . . . before I put you up for sale again."

"Let me go, you fool," she shrilled at the scar-faced guard wearing the uniform of one of Lucan's elite guards, now tattered and smoke-stained.  Realizing his vulnerability, Lucan's voice became sly and coaxing. "I was the Governor's favorite.  I know where he kept his cash.  Turn me loose and I'll show you."

The large hand slapped her hard, leaving her mouth bruised and bleeding, "Show me, bitch, and maybe I won't sell you." His hand fondled the sheathed knife on his belt as he muttered, "Maybe I'll just cut out your tongue and keep you for myself.

Lucan stared at his captor in dismay.

Moments later the lift delivered Jenna, Travis and the rest to the main docking area where, much to their relief, the earlier angry crowds had been dispersed.  All that remained were shattered windows and burned-out shops and the broken bottles, torn clothing, and other discarded debris of an angry mob.

And a vigilant security squad that was checking the ID s of everyone still on the street.

Drawing himself up to his full height, Mikhail confronted the sergeant of the squad and demanded in the typical pompous tone of a wealthy businessman,

"What's the meaning of this, Constable?  My nephew and I have already been delayed by those unruly crowds that prevented us from getting to our ship this morning.  Don't tell me there's going to be any further problems?"

Just a routine ID scan, Captain . . . to help control criminal elements.  You do have your ID and pilot's papers with you, I presume."

Mikhail always did . . .  even if Lucan had confiscated and destroyed them, he would have duplicates readily accessible. But a man in his position would still be insulted when asked for his papers, so he gave them the expected bluster,  "My nephew and I along with these other citizens are specially invited guests of the Governor, young man.  And we don't appreciate being stopped in the street and asked to show ID like common criminals."

<>The officer was clearly tired and his feet hurt, but he was not easily intimidated.  
  
"Please, sir, just show me your pilot's papers and there will be no problems."

Reluctantly Mikhail brought out an expensive wallet that contained his papers and ID and after the guard had glanced over them and started to turn to Travis (who had his papers) and Jenna (who also did, just under the wrong identity), Mikhail held out a hundred credit note to the guard, "Look, can we just expedite matters here?  My niece and nephew's papers are on the ship, along with those of their son and our two passengers.  I really am too tired and hung over to walk all the way to the ship and back again, just so you can dot your i's and cross your t's."

The guard considered his options. The man was clearly wealthy judging by his the cut and fabric of his clothes even though they were stained and disheveled.  Considering the rather bedraggled look of his party, either they had gotten caught up in one of the mobs or had been partying rather heartily the night before.  Possibly even both.  And he had said that he was a guest of the Governor's.  Best to let  _that_  sleeping dog lie.

"Very well, Captain, but please make sure that you all have your proper papers on you when you come planetside again."

"I assure you we will, Constable. We most definitely will."  
  
Moments later they were safely aboard the  _Valkyrie_ , ramps up, doors sealed and hatchways dogged.  Jenna ran her hand gratefully along the gleaming controls as she luxuriated in the seat made to her specific measure, "It's good to be back where I belong, old girl.  Shall we give the Portmaster a hail and take our leave of this garden spot of the galaxy?"  
  
"Anytime you're ready, Jenna,"  Mikhail gusted out as he collapsed in one of the crew seats.  
  
<>She glanced back at Jason, who was already sprawled half-asleep in one of the auxiliary crew's bunks, "What about you, hot shot?   Have you had enough adventure for this month, at the very least?"  
  
Travis leaned across from his seat at the engineering controls, as he demanded  "And if you're going to go haring off again on some cock-eyed adventure, will you at least have the brains to do it aboard an Enclave ship?"

But Jason didn't answer with anything other than a snore and the two of them had to be content with that for an answer until they returned to Sanctuary.


End file.
